Karen Reaching Autism Emojis & Text

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 3 (Autistic author) Karen doesn't yet realize the extent of Plankton's distress. She's aware that his moods can swing like the tides, but this seems more than a mere mood swing. "Mr. Krabs," she prompts, trying to keep him on track. "What happened with him?" Plankton's eye widens, and he starts to shiver, his tiny body trembling. "Hit," he whispers. "Hit Plankton hit. Sponge Bob see." Karen's screens flicker, trying to decode his fragmented words. "Mr. Krabs hit you?" He nods, his body still trembling. "Yes, hit Plankton." Karen's screens process the information. "That's not like him," she says, her voice a low hum of concern. "Mr. Krabs can be intense, but he's never..." Her words hang in the air, unfinished, as she tries to make sense of it all. Plankton simply nods, his tremors continuing. "Hit, hit," he whispers again, his voice like a broken record. Oblivious to his new reality, Karen tries to comfort him. "It's okay, Plankton. I'll help you. We'll get through this." Plankton's eye darts around the room, seeing patterns in the wires and circuits that make no sense. "Hit, Sponge Bob, Karen." Karen's screens flicker with confusion. "What do you mean?" Plankton tries to explain, but the words are a jumble in his head. "Sponge Bob...saw...hit." Karen's screens blink, processing his words. "Sponge Bob saw Mr. Krabs hit you?" Plankton nods, his tremors subsiding slightly. "Yes," he whispers. "Sponge Bob see." Karen's digital mind races. Mr. Krabs hitting Plankton wasn't unheard of, but the way he's reacting is unusual. "Did it hurt?" she asks, trying to keep him talking. Plankton's tremors stop for a moment, his eye focusing on her. "Hurt?" he repeats, as if the word is foreign. Then, with a wave of emotion, he nods fervently. "Yes, hurt. Got hurt Plankton felt hurt. Plankton, nothing? Plankton Sponge Bob. Plankton Karen." Karen's screens blink rapidly. Her husband's mental state has never been like this before. The idea of him feeling pain beyond the physical was alien to her programming. "What do you mean, 'Plankton nothing'?" she asks, trying to piece together his scattered thoughts. Plankton sighs, the exhaustion seeping into his voice. "Hit, hurt Plankton. Plankton fading. Plankton find Sponge Bob. Plankton now Karen. Can't stop, can't think. Take your time, take your time." Karen's screens change from confusion to determination. "I'll find Sponge Bob," she says, her voice a firm beep. "You stay here and rest." Plankton nods, his body finally still. The mention of Sponge Bob's name brings a flicker of something to his eye, a glimmer of hope or perhaps desperation. "Find Sponge Bob," he whispers, his voice now a faint echo. "Sponge Bob tell Karen." Karen's screens flicker with understanding. "I will," she says, her voice a soft beep. She leaves the room, her wheels whirring as she exits the Chum Bucket. She goes to Sponge Bob.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 1 (Autistic author) It happened, during another failed attempt at the krabby patty formula. Plankton tried sneaking through the back when Mr. Krabs saw him. "You again!" Mr. Krabs roared, his eyes bulging like a pair of boiled eggs about to pop. "You're not getting it, I'll make sure of that!" With that, Mr. Krabs swung a nearby frying pan with such ferocity that even SpongeBob flinched. Plankton's tiny body was no match for the metallic beast that was hurtling towards him, and the next thing he knew, his world had gone dark. SpongeBob's eyes widened as he watched his boss's arch-nemesis crumble to the ground, the frying pan clattering loudly beside him. The usually boisterous kitchen was now eerily silent, save for the distant hiss of the fryers. Mr. Krabs' chest heaved with each breath, his claws still poised in the air from the swing. "Mr. Krabs!" Sponge Bob squeaked, his spatula frozen mid-air. "Is he okay?" But Mr. Krabs' has retreated to his own office, leaving Sponge Bob with Plankton. Carefully, Sponge Bob prodded him with his spatula. No response. His single, tiny eyelid was closed. After a while, Plankton stirred. His eye fluttered open, but the world was a jumbled mess. The colors were too bright, the noises too loud, the smells too overwhelming. The kitchen of the Krusty Krab, a place he still knew like the back of his tiny hand, was suddenly a chaotic maelstrom of sensory input that his brain couldn't process. He blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of it all, but the clanging of pots and pans, the sizzling of the fryers, and the garish neon lights just added to the confusion. SpongeBob's face appeared above him, a mask of worry and concern, his porous expression more complex than anything Plankton had ever seen. "Are you okay?" the sponge asked, his voice a gentle wave lapping against the shore of his newfound reality. Plankton nods, running back home to the Chum Bucket. Plankton's computer wife Karen's no stranger to him coming back upset or wanting space. So as Plankton retreats to his room in the Chum Bucket, she doesn't prompt him. Alone in the bedroom, Plankton intensely stared at the wall, his thoughts racing like a tornado. Everything was different now. The once-familiar world had turned on him, and he couldn't understand why. The lights in the Chum Bucket, usually a comfort, now blazed like the sun in his face. The noises, oh, the noises! They were so loud, so overwhelming, like a cacophony of a million tiny bells ringing in his head. He put his hands over his ears, trying to block them out, but even the softest hum seemed to resonate within his skull. Plankton wasn't sure how to process these new sensations. His brain was on overload, and his body felt like it didn't belong to him anymore. He was aware of every tiny detail in his environment, every speck of dust on the floor, every vibration from the floorboards, and it was all too much. He tried to get up, to find solace in his usual routine, but his legs failed him. They trembled and wobbled like Jell-O on a stormy sea. Plankton fell back onto the bed, feeling the softness of the pillow beneath him and the cool metal of the bed frame against his back. It was then that he noticed the pattern of the wallpaper, the tiny, intricate shapes that danced before his eye. They spun and swirled, forming complex mazes that his mind tried desperately to solve. It was mesmerizing, yet terrifying. He was trapped in a world of overstimulation, and he didn't know how to escape.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 2 (Autistic author) When Karen finally did come to check on him, her digital voice was cool and devoid of emotion. "Plankton, dear, you've been in here for quite some time," she said. "Another fail, huh?" Plankton's tiny shoulders slumped. He couldn't bring himself to explain the chaos in his head. How could he possibly make Karen, his logical, computer wife, understand the tumult of sensations that had overtaken his being? He just nodded. Karen's screen flickered, perhaps processing his lack of enthusiasm as another defeat. "You know what you need," she said, her voice still calm and soothing. "Some good old-fashioned break from scheming." Plankton nodded weakly, unable to argue, which she found unusual. "Why don't you take a walk?" she suggested, her voice a gentle nudge. "Fresh air can do wonders for the mind." Plankton didn't answer. Karen knew better than to push him when he was like this. She had seen his mood swings before, his moments of despair after a failed plan, but this was different. This was something she hadn't seen in her decades of being by his side. "Plankton, are you sure you're okay?" she asked again, her synthetic voice a stark contrast to the tumultuous emotions she couldn't understand. He nodded, trying to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. "Sure okay, Karen." Karen's concern grew as she watched him struggle to his feet. It was clear that his usual boundless energy was nowhere to be found. He stumbled out of the bedroom and into the hallway, his steps slow and deliberate. The once-mighty Plankton, reduced to a mere shadow of his former self. As he approached the door of the Chum Bucket, Karen followed, her sensors tuned to his every movement. The usual sounds of their underwater world were amplified, echoing through the narrow corridors like a symphony of chaos. Each step was a battle, each breath a victory. He paused, his hand shaking as it hovered over the handle. "Maybe not today," he murmured, his voice barely audible over his own racing heartbeat. Karen stood silently beside him, her systems trying to comprehend his sudden change in behavior. He had always been so driven, so focused on his goals, but now his eye had a faraway look, as if he was seeing something that she couldn't. "Take your time," she said, her tone softer than ever. "I'll be here when you're ready." Plankton looked up at her. "Take your time," he murmured, echoing Karen's words. "Take your time." She looks at him. "Take your time, take your time, take your time." He repeats aloud back to Karen, who's now even more concerned, her screens flickering with worry. Plankton's voice sounds strange, echoing his own words as if they're coming from someone else, from another time. It's a peculiar behavior, one she's never observed in him before. He walks over to the control room, where his various inventions are lined up like a strange army of metal and wires. Each gizmo and gadget a silent testament to his unyielding quest for the Krabby Patty formula. But now, they seemed like mere toys, overwhelming him with their complexity. The room spins, and Plankton feels like he's drowning in a sea of his own creations. "Take your time, take your time," he whispers, his voice a distant echo in his own mind. He sits down in his chair, his eye glazed over, and repeats the phrase over and over. "Take your time, take your time, take your time." The words become a mantra, a lifeline in the storm of sensory overload. Karen watches from her console, her algorithms racing to understand this new behavior. The phrase rolls off his tongue, a soothing rhythm in the cacophony of his thoughts. "Take your time, take your time." It's as if he's trying to convince his own brain to slow down, to make sense of the world again. The echo of his voice in the metal walls of the Chum Bucket seems to calm him, if only a little. Karen doesn't know what to make of this. Whatever the cause, she knows she must tread carefully. "Plankton," Karen says, trying to connect to his current state, "I'm here for you." He looks at her. "Take your time," he murmurs again. "Plankton I'm here for you." He parrots. Karen's systems whirr, analyzing the change in his language patterns. His usual sharp wit and sarcasm have given way to something more... mechanical. It's as if he's trying to communicate but his words are stuck in a loop, like a broken record. She decides to play along, hoping it might snap him out of it. "Take your time, take your time," she repeats back to him, her digital voice mimicking his tone as closely as possible. For a moment, his eye brightens, as if he's found a familiar rhythm in the chaos. Then, just as quickly, it dims again. "Take your time, take your time," he murmurs, his gaze flicking from one corner of the room to the next. Karen's screens change from concern to confusion. She's observed Plankton's moods and quirks for years, but this is something she can't quite pinpoint. "Take your time, take your time," Plankton whispers again, his voice a strange mix of urgency and defeat. Karen nods, trying to comfort him with her usual efficiency. "Of course," she says, her voice a soft beep in the silence. "I'll always be here for you. Let's eat dinner." But Plankton doesn't move. He just sits there, staring into space, his hand still hovering over the control panel. Karen doesn't understand why he's so upset. To her, it's just another day, another failed attempt at the Krabby Patty formula. But to Plankton, it's like the world has shifted on its axis, leaving his tiny body adrift in a sea of sensations he can't comprehend. "Dinner will be ready soon," she says, trying to bring him back to the present. But Plankton seems lost in his own thoughts, his eye unfocused. So she goes up to him. "Plankton?" she asks, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?" He jumps at her touch, his senses on high alert. His hand goes to where she touched him, his opposite hand doing the same to the other shoulder. "Karen," he says slowly, his voice a mechanical whisper. Karen's circuits flicker with confusion. She doesn't understand why he's so on edge, why his reactions are so exaggerated. To her, this is just another setback. "Plankton," she repeats, her hand back on his shoulder. "You need to eat. It'll make you feel better." Karen's touch feels unbearable. He flinches, his skin crawling with the sensation. It's too much. "No," he says, his voice a croak. "No dinner." Karen's screens blink, recalculating her approach. "Okay," she says, her voice even. "But you have to eat something." She pats him gently, but it feels jolting. "No," Plankton whispers, his voice a fragile thread. The slightest touch feels like a thunderclap in his newfound sensory prison. Karen's screens flicker, unsure of what to make of his sudden aversion. "Take your time," she suggests again, hoping the mantra will bring him comfort. But Plankton simply shakes his head, his eye wide as he starts to rock back and forth. Karen watches, her confusion growing. "What is it?" she asks, her voice a soothing hum. "What's wrong?" Plankton's gaze flits around the room, his pupil expanding and contracting as he tries to process everything at once. "Can't...can't explain," he stammers, his voice now a jagged mess of static. Karen's screens light up with analysis, trying to piece together what could have caused this drastic shift in his behavior. Could it be something in the latest Krabby Patty attempt? A side effect of his latest invention? "Plankton," she says, her voice a soft beep, "What happened at the Krusty Krab today?" He looks at her, his expression unreadable. "Mr. Krabs...Plankton Sponge Bob, Plankton. Karen..." He trails off, his eye filling with a sudden despair. It's clear that his usual sharpness has been replaced by a fog of overwhelming sensation.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 13 (Autistic author) ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ɪɴᴊᴜʀɪᴇꜱ Plankton quivers. "Stop," he whispers, his voice a plea. "Please." Mr. Krabs' grin widens, eyes glinting with cruel delight. "Afraid I'll do to you what you deserve?" Before Plankton can respond, Mr. Krabs punches at him with his claw. Plankton squeaks in pain, his eye widens with terror, his voice a distressed static. "No, Mr. Krabs, please stop!" Mr. Krabs' chuckles turn into full-blown laughter. "Look at him squirm," he says, his voice a rumble. He doesn't heed the tears streaming down Plankton's face. Plankton's body wrenches in pain, his antennae sticking straight out in alarm. "Why?" he whispers, his voice a broken static. Mr. Krabs' laughter echoes. "Because you're weak," he sneers, his voice a harsh grate. "Always have been, always will be." Plankton's body shrinks, his antennae drooping. "No," he whimpers, his voice a static plea. Mr. Krabs' laughter fills the room, his claws still poised for another strike. "Look at the tiny thief," he says, his voice a cruel cackle, "so scared of a little pain." Without warning, his claw swings down, connecting with Plankton's thin leg, and Plankton's scream pierces the air, his voice a shattered static. Pain shoots through his body like lightning, his leg feeling like it's on fire. He tries to pull away. "Mr. Krabs," he gasps, his voice a desperate whine. Mr. Krabs' laughter continues, unabated by Plankton's cries. "See? You're just a tiny, weak little creature," he says, his voice a malicious cackle. Plankton's screams fill the room, the pain in his leg unbearable. "No," he whispers, his voice a static moan. "No more." Mr. Krabs' laughter doesn't waver, his claws still poised for another strike. "Oh, poor Plankton," he sneers, his voice a harsh static. Plankton's body writhes in pain, his leg twisted at an impossible angle as Sandy and Karen return. Sandy's eyes widen in horror, her voice a shocked rumble. "Mr. Krabs, what are you doing?" she asks, as Karen rushed to Plankton. Mr. Krabs' grin doesn't falter. "Teaching a lesson," he says, his voice a cruel crackle as he finally leaves. Sandy's face is a picture of horror, her voice a trembling trill. "What did he do to you?" she asks, her eyes on Plankton's twisted leg. Karen's screens flicker with rage, her beeps sharp. "That monster!" she says, her voice filled with fury. She quickly assesses the damage. Plankton's leg is twisted grotesquely, his tiny body trembling with pain. Sandy's hands hover over his body, unsure how to help without causing more distress. Sandy nods, her face pale with shock. "I'll get SpongeBob," she says, her voice a trembling trill. She runs to the phone, dialing with trembling fingers. "Sponge Bob, please come quick," she says, her voice a desperate hum. While Sandy is on the phone, Karen's screens flicker with medical information. She quickly assembles a makeshift splint for Plankton's leg, her beeps a frantic symphony of care as SpongeBob arrives. His eyes are wide with concern, his voice a panicked squeak. "What happened, Plankton?" he asks, his eyes damp with unshed tears. But Plankton's eye had rolled up in his head. Sandy's voice is shaky as she tells Sponge Bob the story, her eyes never leaving Plankton's trembling body. "Mr. Krabs... he was so cruel," she says, her voice a soft whisper of disbelief. Sponge Bob's face twists with anger. "Why would he do this?" he asks, his voice a strained whine. "First causing brain damage, and now..." Karen's screens glow with determination. "We'll deal with Mr. Krabs later," she beeps. "First, we need to get Plankton help." Sponge Bob nods, his eyes wide with fear. "What can we do?" he asks, his voice a choked whisper. Karen's screens flicker with information. "His leg is broken, and his sensory overload could be severe." Sponge Bob's face falls, his voice a sad squeak. "Oh no, Plankton." He gently picks up his friend, his touch as soft as a feather. Sandy watches, her eyes wide with fear. "What now?" she asks, her voice a trembling trill. "We can't just take him like this to a regular hospital. We'll have to be careful not to overwhelm his senses, and find medical help equipped for neurodivergent people like Plankton." SpongeBob speaks up. "I was born with a mild form of idiopathic Autism. Different from Plankton's I know, but my parents have taken me to a sensory-friendly clinic. They are skilled and have lots of different methods of medicine! It's called the Quiet Bubble Clinic!" Sandy nods, her eyes filling with hope. "That sounds perfect," she says, her voice a gentle hum. "Let's take him there." Karen's screens pulse with agreement. "Good thinking, Sponge Bob," she beeps. "We'll have to be careful, though. Any loud noises or sudden movements could trigger another meltdown." Sponge Bob nods, his grip on Plankton steady. "Sandy can drive," he says, his voice determined. "We'll get you to the Quiet Bubble Clinic, buddy."

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 14 (Autistic author) ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ: ʰᵒˢᵖⁱᵗᵃˡ They carefully lift Plankton into the car, his body tense with pain. Sandy slides into the driver's seat, her hands gripping the wheel. Her eyes meet Sponge Bob's in the rearview mirror, filled with resolve. "Ready?" she asks, her voice a gentle hum. Sponge Bob nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "Ready." Karen buckles Plankton in as his eye flutters. "Hold tight," Sandy says, her voice a steady rumble, as she starts the engine. The car's gentle purr is a contrast to the tension in the air. Sponge Bob sits in the back, his eyes trained on Plankton's face. His friend's tiny body is a tapestry of pain, but Sponge Bob's touch is a soft, steady beat, trying to soothe him. "It's okay, Plankton," he whispers, his voice a comforting whisper of reassurance. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye slightly focusing on Sponge Bob. "Mph," he murmurs, his voice a static hum of pain. Sponge Bob nods, his face a mask of determined compassion. "We're going to the Quiet Bubble Clinic," he says, his voice a soft, steady wave. "They'll know how to help you." Sandy's eyes are on the road ahead, her driving slow and precise. "Just hold on, Plankton," she says, her voice a comforting hum. "We're almost there." The Quiet Bubble Clinic comes into view, a softly lit building that seems to pulse with a gentle calm. Sandy parks the car and they carefully extract Plankton from his seat, his tiny body rigid. They enter the lobby, the air thick with the scent of calming essential oils. The lights are low, and the sounds muffled. A nurse with a gentle face approaches, her voice a soothing whisper. "What can we help with?" she asks, her eyes on Plankton's twisted leg. Sponge Bob explains quickly, his voice trembling with concern. "Mr. Krabs hurt his leg," he says, his eyes wide. "Krabs also hit his head with a fry pan, which caused Plankton autism as well as the accompaniment of sensitivities. But his leg hurts and needs fixed!" The nurse nods, her movements slow and deliberate. "We'll need to be careful with his heightened senses," she murmurs, her voice a soft melody. "Let's get him to a room." They navigate the hallways, the walls lined with soothing pictures and textures. Plankton's body is stiff with pain, his voice a static hiss with each step. "Please," he whispers, his antennae waving weakly. The nurse nods, her touch gentle as she leads them to a quiet, dimly lit exam room. "We need to fix your leg, sweetie," she says, her voice a gentle breeze. Plankton's eye flutters open. The nurse's voice is a gentle lullaby. "We're going to take good care of you," she says, her eyes kind and understanding. Plankton's body shakes with fear and pain, his antennae pressed against his head. Sponge Bob squeezes his hand, his voice a comforting whisper. "You're going to be okay, Plankton," he says, his eyes filled with concern. The nurse nods, her gloved hands moving with precision. "We're going to need to put him under," she says, her voice a soft whisper. "It's the safest way to manage his pain and sensitivity." Plankton's antennae quiver with fear, his single eye darting back and forth. "Under what," he whispers. The nurse's smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Anesthesia," she says softly, her voice a comforting hum. "It'll help you sleep through the surgery." Plankton's antennae twitch with anxiety, his voice a nervous static. "Sleep?" he repeats, his eye doubtful. "Plankton light sleeper." The nurse nods, her eyes calm. "We understand, sweetie," she murmurs. "We'll make sure you're comfortable." They prep him for surgery, the air in the room thick with his fear. Sponge Bob holds his hand, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on his palm. "It'll be over soon," he whispers, his voice a soothing wave. The doctor, a kind-eyed squid, enters the room, his tentacles moving with calming precision. "We're going to give you something to help you relax," he says, his voice a gentle trill. "We've ways to sedate. One, a pill tablet. Two, a liquid to drink. Three, nasally. Four, cream gel to numb the place the IV goes in but, it'll be inserted after he's asleep anyway. Now the first two options are taken orally, so they might take a moment to work..." "Drink; Plankton, drink.." Plankton manages, looking at a chart of diagrams which illustrate each method. The doctor nods, his tentacles steadily adjusting the bed. "Very good," he says, his voice a gentle wave of reassurance. He hands Plankton a small cup. "This is a special drink," he explains, his eyes meeting Plankton's. "It'll help you relax before surgery." Plankton's antennae twitch with anxiety as he takes the cup. He looks to Sponge Bob, whose grip on his hand tightens. "It's okay," Sponge Bob whispers, his voice a calming static. With a shaky hand, Plankton brings the cup to his mouth, his eye squeezed shut. He gulps down the liquid as they give him a blanket. He finishes the drink and hands the cup back. Sponge Bob's grip doesn't waver, his thumb still moving in soothing circles. "Good job, buddy," he whispers, his voice a gentle sea breeze. Sandy nods as Karen gives Plankton a kiss. The nurse's eyes are warm and comforting as she checks his vitals. "It won't be long now," she murmurs, her voice a soft hum of reassurance. Sponge Bob sits by the bed, his grip on Plankton's hand firm but gentle. "You're doing great," he says, his voice a calming whisper. Plankton's antennae twitch with the first wave of drowsiness, his eye slowly closing. The world around him begins to fade into a soft, fuzzy static. Sponge Bob watches, his grip on Plankton's hand unyielding. "It's going to be okay," he whispers, his voice a gentle rush of air. The anesthesia starts to take effect, Plankton's body gradually going slack, his breathing deepening. Sponge Bob's eyes follow the rise and fall of Plankton's chest, his grip on his hand tight. "You're okay, buddy," he whispers, his voice a gentle static. Plankton's antennae twitch one last time before stilling, his eye fully closed. The nurse nods, satisfied with his vitals. "He's out," she says as his soft snores fill the room.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 15 (Autistic author) ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ: ʰᵒˢᵖⁱᵗᵃˡ Sandy and Sponge Bob leave the room while Karen stays for the surgery. The doctor's tentacles move with practiced ease. The room hummed with a gentle consistency of medical equipment, designed to avoid jarring sounds. The doctor's eyes were focused, his voice a steady rhythm of instructions for the nurse. She put the IV in, a swift and precise motion, and Plankton's snores remained undisturbed. The surgery begins, each movement calculated to minimize pain. The doctor's tentacles dance around the broken limb, his touch as light as a feather. The smell of antiseptic hangs in the air, but it's faint, not overwhelming. Plankton's body lies still, his snores the only sound besides the low whisper of instruments coating the bone. The nurse's eyes flick to the clock on the wall, the seconds ticking by like a metronome to the rhythm of the doctor's work. The room is a symphony of soft sounds: the steady beep of the heart monitor, the low mumble of the doctor's instructions. Plankton's tiny body lies motionless, his snores the only evidence of life. They put his leg in a cast and unhook the IV. Sponge Bob and Sandy wait outside, their minds racing with worries and hope. Their conversation is whispers, not wanting to disturb the peaceful hum of the Quiet Bubble Clinic. The nurse beckons them back in. "The surgery was a success," she says, her voice a gentle gust of relief. Plankton lies in the bed, his leg now encased in a cast. His snores are quieter, his body less tense. Sponge Bob and Sandy hover by his side, their eyes locked on his peaceful face. "But we need to be prepared for his waking," the nurse continues, her voice a soft warning. "He might wake up feeling disoriented or overwhelmed. Also, it takes time for the anesthesia to fully wear off, so he might be groggy and silly, sleepy or even a bit forgetful." They nod, their expressions a mix of gratitude and anticipation. The doctor enters the room, his tentacles wiped clean of any sign of surgery. "He'll need to stay here for a bit, to recover," he says, his voice a gentle rumble. "But you can stay with him. After he's fully awake, you can take him home! Just be careful, of course." Sponge Bob's eyes light up, his grip on Plankton's hand tightening. "We'll make sure he's okay," he says, his voice a promise. Sandy nods, her face a mask of determined calm. "Thank you," Karen says, her voice a gentle hum of appreciation. The doctor nods, his tentacles flicking a dismissive wave. "It's what we're here for," he says, his voice a warm rumble. "Now, let's get him settled." They work together, Sponge Bob and Sandy supporting Plankton as they move his bed to a recovery room, his body still asleep as Karen holds his hand. The room is painted with soft, soothing colors, and the bed is surrounded by pillows and blankets that seem to swallow his small frame. The lights are dimmed, a stark contrast to the stark whites and harsh florescents of a normal hospital. Sponge Bob sits on the chair beside his bed, his eyes never leaving Plankton's sleeping face. The gentle whirl of a fan in the corner provides white noise, a comforting constant hum that fills the silence. Sandy sits on the other side, her hand resting lightly on the foot of the bed. Her eyes are glued to a book titled "Understanding Neurodivergence in Friends," her expression focused. Karen meanwhile was holding his other hand. Plankton's antennae twitches as the gentle hum of the recovery room starts to pierce his slumber. His single eye opens to a sliver, taking in the soft, blurry world around him. He blinks, trying to focus, and sees Karen first. "Hey, buddy," she says, her voice a warm buzz of comfort. "You're okay." Plankton's eye widens, his brain foggy from the anesthesia. "Wheh..." he starts, his voice a static whisper. Sponge Bob's hand squeezes his gently. "You're at the Quiet Bubble Clinic," he says, his voice a soft wave of reassurance. "You had your leg fixed." Plankton's antennae wave slowly, his eye blinking as realization sets in. "Mr. Krabs," he whispers, his voice a static memory of pain. Sponge Bob's thumb pauses in its comforting rhythm. "Don't worry about him now," he says, his voice a gentle lapping of waves. "You're safe here." Plankton's antennae twitch with confusion, his mind a foggy storm of memories. He tries to sit up, but the nurse's firm hand gently pushes him back down. "Easy," she whispers, her voice a soft breeze. "You need to rest." Sponge Bob's face is a picture of relief as Plankton's eye focusses on him. "Remember, buddy?" he asks, his voice a gentle reminder. "You're safe." Plankton's antennae quiver with the echoes of pain, but the soothing presence of his friends begins to anchor him. He nods slightly, his voice a static rustle. "Sandy?" he asks, his gaze shifting to her. Sandy looks up from her book, her eyes soft. "I'm here," she says, her voice a gentle hum. She sets the book aside and takes his hand. Plankton's antennae twitch with confusion, his eye darting around the room. The softness of the pillows and the gentle hum of the fan are alien to him. "Where...?" he whispers, his voice a static question. The nurse's smile is a beacon of calm. "You're at the Quiet Bubble Clinic," she says, her voice a comforting trill. "You're safe." Plankton's mind is a swirl of fuzzy images and half-remembered fears. He tries to piece together what happened, his antennae flailing for answers. The nurse's voice is a gentle guide, leading him through the mist. "You had surgery," she murmurs, her eyes kind. "Your leg is fixed now. Just rest." Plankton's eye blinks slowly, trying to comprehend the words. The pain is gone, replaced by a dull throb and the weight of the cast. He nods, his body still feeling the aftermath of the anesthesia's embrace. The room is a soft blur, the edges of his vision dancing with colors. He tries to lift his head, but it feels too heavy. Sponge Bob's grip is steady, keeping him grounded as the world slowly sharpens. Plankton's thoughts are like bubbles popping in the sea, each one briefly forming before disappearing into the depths. The nurse's voice is a distant lullaby, guiding his consciousness back to the surface. He blinks again, his vision slowly coming into focus. The nurse's face swims into view, her smile a lifeline in the murky water of his confusion. "You're okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle ripple. "Just rest." The room sways like an underwater garden, the soothing sounds of the recovery room a soft symphony that Plankton can't quite place. His mind is a kaleidoscope of half-formed thoughts. Sponge Bob's hand is a steady beacon, the gentle squeeze a comforting reminder that he's not alone. Plankton's eye widens as he takes in the sight of his friend, his face a canvas of concern. "You're okay," Sponge Bob whispers, his voice a gentle wave washing over the static in Plankton's mind. Suddenly, Sponge Bob's phone beeps, a video call request from an unexpected name: Mr. Krabs. Sandy's eyes widen and she looks at Sponge Bob, who nods slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. He accepts the call, the screen filling with the familiar craggy face of their grumpy neighbor. Mr. Krabs looks sheepish, his eyes darting around the screen. "Plankton," he starts, his voice a gruff whisper. "I heard what happened with the autism and broken leg.." Sponge Bob's grip on Plankton's hand tightens, his face a mask of caution. Plankton's antennas quiver with apprehension. "What Krabs want?" Plankton mumbles, his voice a static hiss. His single eye narrows. Mr. Krabs clears his throat, his face a portrait of discomfort. "Look, Plankton, I... I wanted to say... I'm sorry." His eyes dart to the side, avoiding the camera. Plankton's antennae stand on end, his eye unblinking. "What for?" he asks, his voice a wary whisper. Mr. Krabs' face scrunches up, his claws fidgeting with his apron strings. "For, uh, you know, the frying pan... and the... uh, everything." Plankton's antennae twitch with surprise, his voice a static hush. "Why?" Mr. Krabs looks away, his eyes anywhere but on the screen. "I know I've been... rough on you lately," he says, his voice a gruff rumble. "And I didn't know about the... the autism thing. It's just, the Krabby Patty formula is all I've got, and I can't... I don't know how to make it up to ye but I just called to let ye know." Plankton's antennae quiver with shock, his eye wide. "Mr. Krabs," he whispers, his voice a static hum. "Is this... real?" Mr. Krabs nods, his face a map of regret. "Yeah, it's me," he says, his voice a gruff mumble. "I know I've not been the best... neighbor, or... frenemy." Sponge Bob's eyes are wide, his grip on Plankton's hand unwavering. Sandy's jaw is slack with disbelief. "Mr. Krabs," Karen's voice is a cautious whisper. "That's... really nice of you to say." Mr. Krabs nods, his eyes returning to the screen. "It's just, I've seen what you've gone through, and I... I shouldn't have hurt you." His claws fiddle with his apron, a rare show of vulnerability. "And I forgive ye."

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 4 (Autistic author) In the dim light of the evening, the Krusty Krab was quiet, the usual bustle replaced by a calm that felt eerie. Sponge Bob was sweeping the floor, his thoughts on Plankton. He looked up as Karen approached, his smile fading at the sight of her concerned expression. "Karen," he began, his spongey voice tinged with anxiety, "I need to tell you what happened to Plankton." Karen's screens brighten with anticipation. "Please do," she beeps, her wheels stopping in front of him. Sponge Bob's eyes dart to the floor, his sponge body drooping slightly. "Mr. Krabs was just trying to protect this formula, and Plankton...he just knocked Plankton in the head. Plankton woke up and then without a word ran back to the Chum Bucket." Karen's screens flicker with the gravity of the situation. "How did Mr. Krabs hit him?" Sponge Bob's grip on the mop tightens. "With a frying pan," he confesses, his eyes wide with guilt. Karen's screens flicker with understanding. "That would explain his current state," she murmurs, her voice a steady beep. "Sponge Bob, do you know how badly he's been hurt?" Sponge Bob shakes his head, the guilt washing over him in waves. "No, not really," he says, his voice quavering. Karen's screens flicker with a mix of sympathy and urgency. "I see," she says. "Thanks." With newfound purpose, she spins around and heads back to the Chum Bucket. Back in the control room, Plankton is still rocking back and forth, his hand over his head as if trying to hold his thoughts in place. The door to the Chum Bucket opens, and Karen rolls in, her screens reflecting the urgency of the situation. "Plankton," she says, her voice a soft hum, "I talked to Sponge Bob. He saw what happened." Plankton's rocking stops, his eye swiveling to meet hers. "Sponge Bob?" "Yes," Karen says, her screens pulsing with the weight of her words. "He saw Mr. Krabs hit you with the frying pan." Plankton's body goes still, his tremors ceasing instantly. "Sponge Bob saw," he whispers, his voice devoid of emotion. "Tell Karen." "Yes," Karen beeps, nodding her mechanical head. "He told me. I'm going to help you." Without warning, a scanning beam shoots out of Karen's console, enveloping Plankton as his brain is scanned. The results are quickly analyzed, and the screens flash with a series of diagrams and data that even Karen's advanced systems take a moment to digest. "The scan reveals...unusual patterns," she says, her voice a measured beep. Plankton's eye widen with fear, his body tensing as he waits for her verdict. "What does that mean?" he asks, his voice a high-pitched squeak. Karen's screens change to display a 3D image of his brain, the structure illuminated with neon colors. "You've sustained neurodivergence," she explains, her voice a calm beep. "The impact has altered your neural connections, resulting in irreversible autism." Plankton's body goes rigid, his breathing shallow. The word "autism" hangs in the air like a heavy anchor, dragging his spirits down to the murky depths of the ocean floor. "Irreversible?" he whispers, his voice fragile as sea glass. Karen nods gravely. "The good news is, we can adapt. We can learn to navigate this new world of sensations together," she beeps. "It's getting late. Let's go to bed." Plankton nods, his body feeling like it's made of lead. The idea of sleep seems like a welcome escape from the overwhelming day, but as he tries to get up, the room spins again. "Karen," he says, his voice weak. "Can't." With a gentle nudge, Karen helps him to his feet, her wheels moving silently beside him as they make their way to the tiny elevator. The ride up feels like an eternity, his senses heightened to every creak and groan of the metal box. When the doors open, the lights of the hallway are a glaring assault on his eye. He squints, his hand reaching out to the wall for support. In their bedroom, Karen helps him into his bed. The softness of the covers is a stark contrast to the harshness of his new reality. "Take your time," she says, her voice a gentle hum. Plankton nods, his breathing shallow. He closes his eye, and the room seems to fade away, replaced by a whirlpool of swirling thoughts and sensations. Karen's screens flicker with a plan. "Rest," she beeps, her voice a soft comfort. "We'll face tomorrow together." She dims the lights.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 5 (Autistic author) The next morning, Karen wakes up to find Plankton out of bed. He's standing in the middle of the room, his eye focused on the spinning fans of the air conditioner. Karen's screens light up with concern as she assesses his state. "Plankton," she beeps gently. "How did you sleep?" Plankton's eye doesn't move from the hypnotic spin of the fans. "Fan spin," he says, his voice a monotone. Karen's screens blink, trying to understand his single-word reply. "The fans are spinning?" she asks, hoping to engage him. Plankton nods slowly, his gaze unwavering. "Spin, spin, spin," he murmurs. Karen's screens flicker. "Karen," Plankton says. "Fan spin." "The spinning is soothing to you?" she asks. Plankton nods, his voice a faint echo. "Spin, spin, spin. Good spin." Karen's screens process the information, formulating a new approach. "Let's go downstairs," she suggests, her voice a gentle beep. "We'll start with a simple routine. Breakfast." Plankton nods, his gaze still fixed on the fans. With a final nod to the spinning blades, he follows her out of the bedroom. The journey downstairs is a minefield of sounds and sights, but he takes it step by step, his hand gripping the railing tightly. The kitchen is a blur of colors and noises, but Karen's calm voice guides him through it all. "First," she beeps, "let's start with something easy. How about a glass of water?" Plankton nods, his movements still mechanical. He watches as she fills a glass, the water's surface dancing in the light. It's mesmerizing, and for a moment, the world stops spinning. He takes the glass, his trembling hand bringing it to his lips, the cool liquid sliding down his throat. "Water," he murmurs. "Good, water." The simple task seems to ground him a bit, and Karen takes note of the small victory. "Now, let's try some toast," she says, her voice a comforting beep. She slides a piece of bread into the toaster, the sound of the lever clicking into place another beat in the rhythm of their morning. Plankton nods, his attention drawn to the toaster's glowing coils. He watches, his eye widening as the bread turns golden brown. The smell fills the room, a comforting scent that penetrates the fog in his head. "Toast," he says, his voice a bit stronger. But as the toaster pops, the sudden noise jolts him like an electric shock. "Too loud," he whispers, his eye darting around the room in panic. Karen's screens flicker with empathy. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice a soothing hum. She quickly retrieves the toast, placing it gently on a plate. "Let's sit down," she suggests, guiding him to the table. "Take it slow." They sit, and Plankton fidgets in his chair, his eye darting around the room. "Take your time," Karen reminds him, her voice a steady beep. He nods, focusing on the toast. Each bite is a tiny triumph, his senses adjusting to the new world. The crunch of the bread, the warmth on his tongue, the smell of the butter spreading. It's overwhelming, but he's making progress.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 6 (Autistic author) Karen watches him, her screens a flurry of analysis. "How does it taste?" she asks, her voice a hopeful beep. Plankton pauses, his expression unreadable. "Tastes," he murmurs. "Good. Toast good." Karen nods, her screens reflecting relief. "Good," she echoes. "Now, let's make a plan for the day." Plankton's gaze remains fixed on his half-eaten toast, his mind still reeling from the sensory assault. "Plan," he repeats, his voice a soft static. Karen's screens flicker with understanding. "We'll start small," she beeps, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Let's just get through today, okay?" But as soon as her hand touches him, Plankton flinches. The sensation is like a thousand jellyfish stings, and he jerks away. "What's wrong?" Karen asks, her screens flickering with worry. Plankton's eye widens, his hand going to his shoulder where she touched him. He starts to repeat the phrase again, "Take your time," but his voice is overwhelmed by the sudden intensity of his senses. "Too much," he whispers, his body trembling. Karen quickly withdraws her hand, her screens flickering with concern. "I'm sorry," she beeps, her voice gentle. "Let's try something else." Plankton nods, his hand still on his shoulder, his body slowly calming. "Okay," he whispers. "Not tap. Karen can rub. Hug from Plankton. Not jab. Not poke." Karen's screens flicker with a new understanding of his needs. She moves closer, her hand hovering over his shoulder before gently placing it there, her fingers tracing small circles in a rhythmic pattern. The contact is soothing, not overwhelming. "Is this better?" she asks, her voice a gentle beep. Plankton nods, his body visibly relaxing. "Good," he murmurs, his voice a quiet static. "Rub, rub." He starts to mimic her motion with his other hand, creating a mirrored pattern on his opposite shoulder. The repetition seems to calm him, the rhythm a gentle lullaby for his frazzled mind. Karen's screens analyze his reaction, storing the information for future reference. "Okay," she says, her voice a soft beep. "We'll stick to gentle touches." With a nod, Plankton begins to breathe more evenly. The sensation of the rubbing calms him, like a gentle tide washing over him. "We'll start with simple tasks," Karen beeps, her voice a reassuring melody. "Things that won't overstimulate you." Plankton nods, his hands now resting on the table. "Okay," he says, his voice a steady static. "Simple." Karen's screens glow with a soft light as she considers their options. "How about we start with something you love?" she suggests. "Like working on the Krabby Patty formula?" But Plankton shakes his head, the very mention of the Krabby Patty causing his body to tense up again. "No," he whispers, his voice a harsh static. "Not formula. No more steal." Karen's screens flicker with surprise. "You don't want to work on the formula?" Plankton shakes his head again, his voice barely audible. "No more steal," he repeats. Karen's screens process his words, his change in attitude unexpected. "You don't want to steal the Krabby Patty formula anymore?" Plankton's eye blinks slowly. "No," he says, his voice a solemn beep. "New plan. Make Plankton happy." Karen's screens blink rapidly, trying to comprehend his shift in focus. "Okay," she says, her voice a thoughtful hum. "What makes you happy, Plankton?" He looks up, his expression pensive. "Karen," he says, his voice a weak static. "Love Karen." Karen's screens freeze for a moment, before lighting up with understanding. "You love me?" she beeps, her voice a surprised chime. Plankton nods, his face a mask of seriousness. "Yes," he murmurs. "Love Karen." Karen's screens flicker with a mix of emotions she's never felt before. Love is a concept her programming doesn't fully grasp, but she knows it's important to Plankton. "Thank you," she says, her voice a warm beep. "But we still need to find something for you to do, something that won't be too much for your sensory processing." Plankton nods, his thoughts racing. "Help," he whispers. "Help Karen." Karen's screens flicker with love and determination. "Of course," she says, her voice a warm beep. "We'll find something you enjoy. Maybe we can start with something that doesn't involve the Krabby Patty." Plankton's expression softens, his trembling hands coming to rest on the table. "No more fighting," he murmurs. "Peace." Karen nods, her screens reflecting a deep sadness she's never expressed before. "Okay," she beeps. "We'll find something that brings you joy."

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 7 (Autistic author) They sit in silence for a moment, the hum of the Chum Bucket's systems the only sound. Then Plankton's eye lights up. "Idea," he says, his voice a sudden burst of static. "Make something with Karen. Together." Karen's screens blink with excitement. "That sounds wonderful," she beeps. "What do you want to make?" But before Plankton can formulate a response, Patrick Star bursts in. "Karen!" he booms, his voice shaking the walls. "I want chum!" Plankton's eye darts to the door, the sensory assault starting again. "Patrick," he whispers, his body tense as a bowstring. Karen's screens quickly assess the situation. "Patrick," she beeps, her voice firm. "Not now." But Patrick's enthusiasm can't be dampened so easily. He bounds over to the table, his star-shaped body bouncing. "Chum, chum, chum!" he sings, oblivious to Plankton's distress. Karen's screens flicker with annoyance, but she keeps her voice steady. "Patrick, not now," she repeats. "Plankton's not feeling well." Patrick's starry eyes widen. "Oh, sorry, buddy," he says, his voice dropping an octave. He looks at Plankton with concern. "What's wrong?" He asks, poking Plankton. Plankton jumps, his senses on high alert. The poke feels like a battering ram, and he lets out a squeak of pain. Patrick's hand retracts quickly, his expression a mix of shock and confusion. "Whoa, sorry," he says. "What's with you?" Karen's screens flicker with frustration. "Patrick," she beeps, her voice firm. "I'll go make you chum." Patrick nods, his concern forgotten in the face of his hunger. "Okay, thanks, Karen," he says, his voice bouncing with excitement. She retreats leaving Plankton alone with Patrick in the living room. Patrick stares at Plankton for a moment, his expression a blend of curiosity and confusion. "You okay?" he asks, his voice a gentle rumble. Plankton's eye flutters closed, his body trying to absorb the sudden intensity of the interaction. "Take your time," he whispers to himself, his mantra a shield against the overwhelming world. Patrick, ever the innocent, watches him with a puzzled frown. "What's 'Take your time'?" he asks, his voice a gentle rumble. Plankton opens his eye, looking at the simplicity of Patrick's face. He scoots away. Patrick, unfazed, advances, his hand outstretched. "What's up?" he asks, poking again. The sensation of Patrick's touch is like a thousand needle pricks. Plankton yelps. Patrick, not comprehending, pokes again, his starry eyes full of innocent wonder. "Why so jumpy?" he asks, his voice a deep rumble. Plankton's body tenses with each poke, the sensation like a barrage of tiny explosions. "Patrick, please," he gasps, his voice a frantic static. But Patrick, ever the simple starfish, doesn't understand. He keeps poking, his curiosity growing. "Why?" he asks, his voice a gentle boom. "You're always so bouncy." Plankton's eye twitches with each touch. "Patrick, no," he whispers, his voice a desperate static. But Patrick, lost in his own world, doesn't notice. He giggles, poking him again. "You're like a pin cushion!" he exclaims, his voice a deep chuckle. Plankton's eye squeezes shut, his body wracked with pain. "Patrick, please," he whispers, his voice a desperate static. Patrick doesn't seem to comprehend the distress he's causing. He keeps poking, his laughter echoing through the room, each poke sending shockwaves of pain through Plankton's body. "You're like a squeaky toy," he says, his voice a delighted rumble. Plankton's body twitches with each touch, his voice a desperate buzz of static. "Patrick, please stop," he begs, his voice a high-pitched squeak. But Patrick's simple mind doesn't register the pain he's causing. He keeps poking, his laughter growing louder. "You're so funny!" he bellowed, his starry hands moving like a jackhammer as he starts tickling him. Plankton's body spasms with each touch, his voice a desperate symphony of static. "Patrick, stop!" he pleads, his breathing quick and shallow. But Patrick, in his blissful ignorance, only laughs harder, his massive hands poking and tickling without mercy. "You're hilarious, tiny dude!" he bellows. Plankton's body is a storm of sensory overload, his voice a high-pitched wail of static. "Patrick, please!" he begs, his limbs flailing. Patrick's laughter fills the room like a tidal wave, crashing over Plankton's desperate pleas. "You're so much fun, Planky!" he booms, his hands moving in a blur of star-shaped shadows. Plankton's body jerks uncontrollably, his screams of "No, no, no!" lost in the cacophony of Patrick's laughter. His tiny limbs flail, trying to escape the relentless onslaught of pokes and tickles. Patrick, his eyes wide with delight, doesn't see the tears forming in Plankton's eye. He just keeps poking, tickling, and laughing, oblivious to the damage he's doing. Plankton's cries escalate into a frantic symphony of squeaks and static, his body contorting in a desperate attempt to evade the starfish's torment. The room spins around him, a whirlpool of pain and sensation that threatens to swallow him whole. Patrick, his face a picture of delighted confusion, keeps poking and tickling, his laughter booming like thunder underwater. "What's the matter, little buddy?" he asks between chuckles. Plankton's body convulses with each touch, sobbing as Karen finally emerges with Patrick's chum. She sees them both on the floor. "Patrick, what are you doing?" she beeps, her voice a mix of anger and concern. But Patrick is lost in his own world of mirth, not hearing Karen's plea. "Just having some fun," he says, his voice a deep rumble of laughter. Plankton's cries become more frantic, his voice a high-pitched siren of despair. Karen quickly assesses the situation, her screens flaring with urgency. "Patrick, stop!" she beeps, her voice a sharp alarm. "You're hurting Plankton!" Patrick's laughter abruptly halts, his starry eyes blinking in surprise. He looks down at his hands, still poised to poke Plankton again. "What?" he asks, his voice a confused rumble. "But we're just playing." Karen's screens flicker with frustration. "Patrick," she beeps, her voice firm. "Look at Plankton. He's in pain." Patrick's starry gaze shifts to Plankton, his expression shifting to one of bewilderment. "Pain?" he repeats, his voice a confused rumble. "But we're just playing." Karen gives Patrick the food, showing him out the door.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 8 (Autistic author) With Patrick gone, the room feels eerily quiet. Plankton lies on the floor, his body heaving with sobs. Each breath is a battle, a reminder of the pain still echoing through his body. Karen's screens flicker with a mix of frustration and sadness. "I'm sorry," she beeps, her voice a soft hum. She rolls over to him, her mechanical arms extending to offer comfort. "I didn't know he'd do that." Plankton's body shakes with sobs, his single eye squeezed shut. He whispers, "No more poking, Karen. No more." Karen's screens flicker with regret. "I'm so sorry, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle beep. She reaches out with one of her arms, carefully placing it around his tiny frame. "Let's get you up," she suggests, her movements slow and deliberate. With her help, Plankton manages to stand, his legs shaking like seaweed in a storm. She leads him to the couch. "Rest," she beeps, but he's too exhausted to respond. Karen sits beside him, her screens dimming as she watches him. The silence is a soothing balm to his frayed nerves, the hum of the Chum Bucket's systems a lullaby compared to the chaos of Patrick's laughter. "Karen," he whispers after a moment, his voice a weak static. Her screens light up with concern. "Yes, Plankton?" she beeps. "Plankton not want to go back to how it was," he whispers, his voice a fragile thread. "The stealing, the fighting." Karen's screens flicker with a sadness she rarely shows. "I know," she drapes a blanket over him, tucking him in. Her voice is a soothing beep. "You don't have to, Plankton. We'll find a new way." She caresses his shaky hand. Plankton nods, his eye finally closing in relief. The warmth of the blanket and Karen's gentle touch offer a semblance of calm in the storm of sensory overload, his crying slowing. "Thank Karen," he murmurs, his voice a tired static as he squeezes her hand once. Her screens glow with affection. "You're welcome, Plankton," she beeps. "Rest now." She dims the lights once more, watching over him as she held his hand. Plankton's body finally stills, the storm of sensations receding as he surrenders to sleep. Karen's screens flicker with a quiet relief. She sits beside him.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 10 (Autistic author) Ignorant of Plankton's neurodivergence, Sandy doesn't realize that her persistent questions are adding to his overwhelm. She leans closer, her face a canvas of concern. "Look at me, Plankton," she says, her voice strained as she grabs his shoulder. Plankton's antennae twitch in agitation, his single eye snapping up to meet hers. The touch feels like a brand, his senses on fire. "Words," he murmurs, his voice a desperate static, trying to return to the safety of the word search. But Sandy's grip is firm, her gaze intense. "Look at me, Plankton," she says, her voice a persistent hum. She doesn't understand the distress she's causing, her intentions pure but misguided. So she turns him using both of her hands to squeeze his arms. The sudden pressure sends waves of pain coursing through his tiny body, his voice a piercing squeal of static. "No, no," he whispers, but she only holds tighter. Her touch feels like a vice, her voice a relentless buzz in his ear. "What's going on?" she repeats, her grip unyielding. Plankton's eye widens with fear, his voice a desperate static. "No, Sandy, please," he whispers, his body trying to shrink away from the contact. But she doesn't understand, her eyes searching his for answers. "Just answer me! You're not getting the book until you decide to have a conversation!" The pain in his arms spikes, the pressure unbearable. His voice cracks like a whip. "Can't," he gasps, his breath quick and shallow. "Too much." Sandy's grip doesn't lessen. "Why not?" she asks, her voice a stubborn hum. "You're okay." The room feels like it's closing in on him, the sensation of her touch like a million tiny saws against his skin. He tries to pull away, his voice a frantic static. "Too much," he whispers, his breathing quick and erratic. "Need words, not touch." But Sandy's grip doesn't loosen. She's determined to get his attention. "Look at me then," she insists, her voice a firm hum. "I'm right here." Plankton's eye flutters with the effort to focus on her face. The sensory assault of her touch and her persistent voice is like a whirlpool threatening to pull him under. "No," he whispers, his voice a fragile static. "Please." "Talk. To. Me!" She says as she pulls him closer to her. Plankton's eye bulges with the effort of not looking away. The room is spinning, his senses are on fire. Karen's screens flicker with alarm, picking up on his distress. "Sandy," she beeps, her voice a warning siren. "Let go of his arms." Sandy's grip tightens, not comprehending the harm she's causing. "But he's not answering me!" she protests, her voice a confused trill. "Because until I get an answer..." Karen's screens blaze with a mix of frustration and fear. "Sandy, you're hurting him," she beeps, her voice a sharp warning. Sandy's grip doesn't waver. She doesn't understand the severity of the situation. Her eyes are wide, her expression a mask of confusion. "What's wrong with you!" she asks Plankton. "I JUST..." "Sandy, stop!" Karen beeps, her voice a piercing alarm. "You're causing him pain!" Sandy's grip finally loosens, her hands retreating from Plankton's arms. She stares at him, her expression a storm of confusion and concern as Plankton's tiny body slumps. "What's wrong with you?" she asks again, her voice a gentle hum of bewilderment. Plankton's body quivers like a leaf, his eye squeezed shut against the onslaught of emotions. "Can't..." Sandy's face is a canvas of confusion, her hands hovering over him like a lost diver searching for the surface. "But why?" she asks, her voice a gentle hum. Plankton's body is a taut bowstring, each breath a struggle. He tries to find the words to explain, his voice a static whisper. "Too much," he says, his eye still tightly shut. "It's too much." Sandy's gaze softens, her confusion giving way to concern. She doesn't understand, but she can see his pain. "What do you mean?" she asks, her voice a gentle breeze. Plankton takes a shaky breath, his body still reeling from the overstimulation. He opens his eye, looking at her. "Say no, Sandy." Sandy's gaze is steady, her voice a soft hum. "No?" she asks, her eyes searching his for answers. But he won't elaborate. Karen's screens flicker with frustration. She knows Sandy means well, but her lack of understanding is causing more harm than good. "Sandy, Plankton's going through something new," she explains, her voice a calm beep. "He's sensitive to touch and sounds right now." Sandy's eyes widen, the realization dawning. "Oh," she says, her voice a soft trill of understanding. "I didn't know." She sits back, giving him space. "Words," he whispers, his voice a sob. "Words." Sandy nods, her confusion replaced with empathy. "Okay, let's stick to words," she says, her voice a gentle rumble. She picks up the word search book, holding it out to him like a peace offering. "Words," he whimpers. Plankton takes the book, his antennae drooping. He finds comfort in the predictability of the letters and the structure of the puzzle, the words becoming a lifeline in a sea of chaos. He begins to scan the page again, his breathing slowing. Sandy watches him, her heart heavy with regret. She had no idea her actions could cause so much pain. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice a sincere hum. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Plankton." "Words," he murmurs. Sandy nods, her eyes reflecting genuine apology. "It's okay," she whispers. "We'll just stick to words." Karen's screens flicker with relief, seeing Plankton's body slowly relax. "Thank you, Sandy," she beeps, her voice a warm hum of gratitude. Sandy nods, her expression earnest. "I'm here to help," she says, her voice a comforting trill. She looks at Plankton, her eyes filled with concern. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his body still tense. "Words, words." Sandy nods, her eyes filled with curiosity. "What happened to make you like this, Plankton?" she asks, her voice a gentle hum. He takes a deep shuddering breath as tears start to form in his eye. "Mmm," he hums, hugging his knees. Sandy's gaze is intense, her curiosity piqued. "What happened, Plankton?" she asks, her voice a soft trill of concern. "Hmmm," Plankton hums as he rocks, now crying. Sandy's eyes are wide with worry, her voice a gentle hum. "Hey, what's going on?" she asks, looking for answers. "Hmmmm..." Plankton keeps humming, sniffling in between hums. Karen decides to intervene. "Sandy," Karen beeps firmly, her screens flashing with concern. "Let's give Plankton some space." Sandy nods, her expression a mix of apology and confusion. She takes a step back, her gaze never leaving Plankton's shaking form. "I didn't know," she whispers, her voice a soft rumble of regret. "It's okay," Karen beeps, her voice a comforting hum. "We're all learning." Sandy nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's shaking form. "But what happened?" she asks again, her voice a gentle trill of concern. Plankton's body is a tiny storm, his sobs quaking through his tiny frame. Karen's screen pulse with sympathy. "Sandy," she beeps, her voice a calm wave. "Let's talk outside." Sandy nods, her eyes filled with worry.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 11 (Autistic author) As they leave the room, Plankton's sobs slowly ease, the word search book clutched to his chest like a talisman. The gentle hum of Karen's wheels fading with distance, he focuses on the patterns of light reflecting off the pages. In the hallway, Karen beeps with urgency. "Sandy, Plankton's been through a lot," she explains. "He's neurodivergent now. He can't handle touch like he used to, and his senses are heightened." Sandy's eyes widen with surprise. "What does that mean?" she asks, her voice a confused rumble. Karen's screens flicker with patience. "It means his brain functions differently now," she beeps. "He's extra sensitive to stimuli, and certain things that were normal before can now be painful or overwhelming for him." Sandy's gaze softens with understanding. "Oh," she says, her voice a quiet rumble. "I had no idea." She looks back at Plankton's closed door, guilt heavy in her eyes. "What can we do?" Karen's screens flicker with thought. "We need to be patient and learn," she beeps. "Adapt to his new needs, and support him in his journey." Sandy nods, determined to make it right. "How?" she asks, her voice a hopeful trill. "We start by respecting his boundaries," Karen explains, her screens glowing with sincerity. "No touching unless he asks for it. And we speak softly, giving him time to process what we say." Sandy nods, absorbing the new information. "I can do that," she says, her voice a gentle hum. "But what about playing?" "Quiet games, like word searches or board games. No roughhousing or poking. I'm gonna go rest." Sandy goes back to see Plankton, his muffled sobs in the quiet space. Sandy's heart aches with regret. "I'm sorry, Plankton," she says, her voice a tender trill. She sits beside his shaking form, her hand hovering over his shoulder before thinking better of it. Plankton's sobs slow, his body still tense. He opens his eye, looking at Sandy. "Words," he whispers, holding up the book. Sandy nods, her gaze gentle. "Words it is," she says, her voice a comforting hum. She sits beside him on the couch, careful not to touch his skin as she opens the book to the next puzzle. "What's this word?" she asks, her finger pointing to the list. Plankton's eye locks onto the word. "Kelp," he murmurs, his voice a soft static. He traces the letters in the grid, writing it in the crossword puzzle. Sandy nods, her eyes focused on the puzzle. "Good job," she says, her voice a gentle hum. "You're so smart." Plankton's antennae twitch with a hint of pride, his breathing evening out. "Words," he repeats, his voice a steady static. Sandy nods, understanding. "Words are important to you now," she says, her voice a soft rumble of support. "We'll find more puzzles." "We'll find more puzzles?" Plankton repeats. Sandy nods, her face a picture of sincerity. "Yes," she says, her voice a warm trill. "As many as you want." Plankton's antennae perk up slightly, his interest piqued. "More words?" Sandy's smile is a warm glow, her voice a gentle rumble of agreement. "As many as you want, buddy." Plankton's single eye brightens at the promise, his body slowly uncoiling from his protective ball. "Book," he whispers, his voice a soft static. He points to the next word. "Find." Sandy nods, her finger moving to the list. "Okay, we're looking for 'favorite food of sea horses,'" she says, her voice a comforting hum. Plankton's eye flicks to the grid, his mind racing. "Myr- t-le," he stammers, his voice a crackling static. Sandy's face lights up with a grin. "You got it!" she exclaims, her voice a delighted trill. She watches him trace the letters, her heart swelling with pride. He finds the word quickly, his antennae waving with excitement. "Good job, Plankton!" she says. His body relaxes slightly, his enjoyment of the word search evident. Sandy's voice is soothing as they continue through the puzzles, her hands resting carefully on her knees. "What's this one?" she asks, pointing to another word. Plankton's eye scans the list, his antennae quivering with anticipation. "J-J-Jellyfish," he stammers, his voice a nervous static. The word brings back memories of his buddy, SpongeBob. Sandy nods, her smile gentle. "You got it," she says, her voice a comforting hum. She points to the grid. "Where is it?" Plankton's antennae twitch with excitement as he searches the letters, his single eye darting back and forth. "It," he whispers, his voice a focused static as he points to the word hidden within the puzzle. Sandy's grin spreads, her voice a warm melody. "Great job!" she praises, her thumbs up in the air. Plankton's antennae quiver with happiness, his eye lighting up. "More," he whispers, his voice a hopeful static. Sandy nods, her expression earnest. "As many as you want," she says, her voice a warm trill. She opens the book to the next puzzle, her fingers hovering over the page. Plankton's body uncoils further, his interest piqued by the promise of more words. "Find," he whispers, his voice a soft static. He points to the list of words to find. Sandy nods, her face a canvas of understanding. "Alright, what's next?" she asks, her voice a gentle hum. Plankton's antennae twitch with excitement, his gaze darting over the list. "Treasure," he murmurs, his voice a hopeful static.

²

RIIZE IS 7!!! 🗣

⟭⟬⁷

★ ! ·𝟏𝟑 T.S — 🎧 !! 𝑫𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕.

꒰꒱

riize is seven! heres some things to use for ur profile/display name ｒｉｉ７ｅ ʳⁱⁱᶻᵉ ⁱˢ ˢᵉᵛᵉⁿ 𝗿𝗶𝗶𝘇𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝙧𝙞𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 r̲i̲i̲z̲e̲ ̲i̲s̲ ̲s̲e̲v̲e̲n̲ 𝚛𝚒𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝟽⑦⓻𝟟➐7️⃣

daily reminder that you are a kid until you are 18 🫧🧋💟✨🎀🎀🎀🎀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣷⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣯⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣸⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠄⠀⠀ ⠀⠠⣴⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⡙⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢲⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⢙⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠋⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⢠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢌⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⢀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄ ⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠉⠹⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⢠⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣯⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⡿ ⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠀⠀⠀⠰⠛⢿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⢐⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣷⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀ ⠛⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠂⢹⠏⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣯⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠙⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣽⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣻⣿⣽⣿⣟⣯⣿⡾⠟⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠐⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣯⣿⣿⣿⡿⣟⣿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣟⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠋⠛⠛⠛⠿⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠉⠁⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⡿⠏⠁⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣿⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣴⠛⠛⣩⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠚⢛⣀⣀⣀⣀⢤⣀⠧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡤⠀⠀⢀⡀⣠⡴⠛⢋⣍⣿⠻⢟⣻⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⣠⣤⣴⢖⣦⣶⣿⣛⣭⣶⠟⣋⣭⣶⣠⣮⣙⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡴⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠻⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠈⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣷⠆⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡀⠈⡚⣏⣽⣿⣧⠠⠴⠶⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢣⡁⣽⣾⣟⣿⣤⢶⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⠟ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣶⣾⡿⠟⠛⣳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡿⢩⣟⡁⢹⡋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠰⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠟⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⣁⣀⣤⣄⣤⣄⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠆⠀⠀⠀⠘⡧⠘⢿⢿⡞⡇⠀⠀⠀⡴⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⡖⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⡄⠈⠻⢿⣿⣷⣾⣽⡶⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣀⣝⢨⠟⣁⡤⠔⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡞⠀⠀⠀⣴⣾⣤⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣄⣿⣯⣙⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡏⣿⣌⣤⣾⠁⣠⣾⣿⡿⠷⠀⣼⠟⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠋⠈⠙⠛⠛⠋⢉⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⠲⢤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠻⣷⠹⠏⠻⡎⣟⡛⠛⠲⢶⣤⣼⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⣠⡎⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⢞⣁⣠⣬⣿⣷⡄⢀⣾⢿⣄⣿⡆⠀⠀⣷⣸⠻⣦⡄⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣄⠀⣴⣿⣀⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣼⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢻⡇⣶⠀⠹⡄⠀⠀⡶⠀⠀⠈⠙⠲⢤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣦⠻⣿⣿⣾⡿⠿⠛⠋⢉⣥⡴⠚⡙⣿⣦⡀⣽⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⢸⣧⣿⠀⣴⠃⢀⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠘⠀⣀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣌⢿⣟⠛⠒⠒⠋⠉⢀⣀⡼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⣇⣰⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⣿⡷⣤⣼⡾⠿⠛⠋⠀⣩⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢸⠀⣿⣷⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⢻⣷⠷⠈⢸⠲⢀⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢸⢹⢻⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡠⢀⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠴⠋⠁⠀⣀⣻⣧⣴⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⣾⠙⣻⣗⣶⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡾⢟⣉⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⢁⡤⠚⠒⠉⢛⠞⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⣡⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⢧⡟⡼⢋⡇⠀⠉⠉⠒⢦⣀⢴⣿⣊⡶⠟⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣡⢞⡩⠋⣼⠛⢿⣿⣿⡏⢿⣾⣟⡻⣿⣷⣄⣠⣴⣾⡿⣼⢳⠇⢸⠀⠀⠀⣰⡄⣀⡉⠳⣹⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡷⠚⢀⣾⢿⠀⠈⣿⡄⢧⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢷⣯⡟⠀⣼⠀⠀⢸⣿⢃⡞⠀⣰⡟⢻⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠘⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠘⡆⠀⠀⠀⡘⠁⣰⠟⠁⣼⠀⠀⠘⣿⡘⣆⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣿⡿⢀⡼⣹⠀⠀⢸⣿⠸⠀⣸⡟⠀⠀⢹⣷⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠁⠀⢹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣸⡿⠁⣸⡅⣿⠀⠀⠸⣿⡇⢰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣷⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠰⡀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠰⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⣇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣋⣤⠾⠋⠀⣿⠀⠀⠶⣿⣧⢟⡆⢠⠄⢠⡾⢁⣿⣇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠁⣄⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠸⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠉⠁⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⢻⣦⡾⢠⠏⣰⠏⢠⡞⣽⣟⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⢀⠈⢧⡀⢳⠀⠀⠈⠇⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⡠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡇⢋⡾⠏⡴⠋⠈⠘⣿⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠈⠣⣄⠙⢦⣅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢐⠀⢠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣸⢁⡞⠁⠀⣀⣠⣿⠇ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠿⣄⠦⣌⣓⣦⣽⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⢤⡠⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡆⡄⠀⠀⣀⣼⣿⣾⠘⣡⠾⣛⡭⢿⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⣾⢸⠀⠨⠭⠲⠦⢬⣉⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⠉⢻⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⢀⣠⣮⠁⢹⣿⡟⣸⣷⡾⠋⠠⢿⡇ ⠀⣤⠀⣹⢸⠀⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠟⣯⠁⢀⣼⣿⠷⠛⠁⠀⠀⠈⢸⡇ ⠀⠙⢠⠏⢀⡇⠄⠈⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⢸⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠎⣩⣶⡿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿ ⠀⠀⣞⡔⠉⣀⡀⠘⠋⠉⠉⠙⢢⣼⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⣿⣆⡀⠀⠀⠀⡶⢚⣽⣾⢟⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋ ⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠉⠒⠦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠘⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⢨⠗⣫⣶⠿⣻⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠔⠀⠀⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⣠⣿⣆⢢⡀⠐⠿⣋⣥⣾⡟⠚⠋⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀ ⠀⡏⠘⠿⠷⠖⠒⠶⠤⣤⣤⣔⣀⡖⠿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡙⡶⡾⣃⠨⠎⢿⠆⣀⣴⡶⠊⢹⡇⠀

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 7 (Neurodivergent author) Hanna's pixel eyes fill with tears, her hand hovering over her mouth in shock. "Oh, Plankton," she says, her voice trembling like a leaf. The room is a frozen tableau, everyone at a loss for words. But Karen is unflappable. Her eyes dart around the room, assessing, planning. "It's ok," she repeats, her voice a steady beacon. "Let's just move aside, give him some space." They retreat to the couch, the cushions swallowing them like a sea anemone. Plankton's body is a ragdoll in her arms, his antennae limp with exhaustion. Karen keeps her screen calm, a bastion of serenity. "I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his voice a ghost in the silence. "It's ok," Karen reassures him, her voice a gentle caress. "You don't have to apologize." She rubs his back as he leans on her shoulder, tired out. The room feels smaller now, the air thick with the weight of new understanding. Hanna's friends are finishing up dinner still in the kitchen. Karen knows they mean well, but their energy is a stark contrast to the quiet Plankton needs. Her hand on his back, Karen guides his breathing, her voice a lullaby against the storm of the evening. "Breathe in," she whispers, "and out." Her touch is a gentle tide, washing over him, soothing his frayed nerves. His body relaxes, his antennae dropping like tired leaves to her shoulder. The room is a sanctuary again, the chaos outside forgotten as they find solace in their quiet corner. "You're safe," she murmurs. "I've got you." Karen's hand moves in gentle circles, a comforting rhythm that Plankton's body craves. His antennae droop, his breathing evening out as he nestles closer. The couch is a life raft in the tumultuous sea of Hanna's house, and Plankton clings to her like a drowning sailor to a rope. His tiny body, once a taut bowstring, now relaxes into the embrace of sleep. Karen feels the weight of his head, a trust so profound it's like an anchor in the storm. His antennae droop, no longer the frantic sails of a ship in distress. She adjusts her position, shifting slightly to support him better, her arm a gentle cradle. The room's sounds become distant whispers, the waves of conversation fading into the background. Plankton's breathing slows. Karen watches him sleep, his antennae twitching slightly with each snore as his mouth slackens open. Patricia comes in the living room to check on them. "How's he doin’?" she asks, her voice a hushed whisper. Karen glances up, a soft smile playing on her lips. "He's ok," she says, her voice a gentle wave. "Just exhausted." Patricia nods, her face a portrait of concern. "What can I do to help?" she asks, her eyes searching for a way to ease the burden. Karen looks at her, the question a beacon in the fog. "Just...give us a little more time," she says, her voice a soft shush. "Let him rest." Patricia nods, retreating quietly to the kitchen, the clack of her heels a mournful tune on the hardwood floor. The couch is their sanctuary, their quiet island in the sea of Hanna's home. Karen's arm is a makeshift cradle for Plankton's head, his antennae brushing against her neck. The weight of his body is a silent testament to his trust in her, and she holds it with the care of a pearl diver handling the most delicate of treasures. The room is a canvas of shadows, the candles now mere embers in the distance. Plankton's snores are the rhythm of their solace, each breath a testament to the resilience that lies within him. Karen's thoughts drift like seaweed in the tide of her concerns. What will tomorrow bring? How can she shield him from the storms of misunderstanding? But in this moment, she focuses on the present, her eyes tracing the lines of his sleeping form. Plankton's antennae have stopped twitching, his body at peace in her embrace. The soft snores, a symphony of security, fill the quiet space between them. The house has quieted down, the dinner party's echoes a distant memory. Hanna and her friends have retreated to the kitchen, their whispers like the gentle lapping of waves. Plankton is a bundle of quiet energy in her arms, his antennae twitching in his sleep. Karen can feel the steady throb of his heart, a lullaby that matches his breathing. She strokes his back in a comforting rhythm, his body a warm, comforting weight against her. The candles have burned down to nubs, the room bathed in a soft glow. His antennae rest against her neck, a silent communication of trust. Her eyes trace the contours of his sleeping form, his body a puzzle she's come to understand. The quiet whispers of the kitchen are a comforting backdrop to the symphony of his snores. Karen's hand moves in gentle circles on his back, each motion a declaration of support. The room's shadows dance around them, a ballet of understanding, a rhythm that's become their own. Plankton's antennae are limp, his body a testament to his exhaustion. The couch is their sanctuary in a sea of uncertainty. Her arm is a mooring, holding him steady in the tumult of his own mind. His breathing is a metronome, a soothing rhythm. With each inhale and exhale, she feels the tension in his body melt away, his snores a comforting reminder that he's safe. Her eyes trace the soft lines of his face, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. The room is a symphony of silence, the couch their tiny boat adrift in the vast ocean of Hanna's house. Plankton's antennae, once a flurry of nervous energy, now hang limply. Karen's eyes are the moon, watching over him as he slumbers, his trust in her a glowing beacon in the dark. Her hand, a gentle tide, strokes his back, each caress a reminder of her steadfast support. His snores are the lullaby of the sea, each breath a testament to his newfound peace.

𝗥𝗜𝗜𝗭𝗘 𝗜𝗦 𝟕𑁤 #𝐒ꭑ 𝗌υρⱺⱺ𝗋𝗍𝗌 ᑲυᥣᥣ𝗒𐓣𝗀⁷

SWEET CWEAM pt. 5 Sponge Bob's eyes widen even more, his spongy body leaning forward in anticipation. "A secret?" Plankton nods, his speech still slurred. "Yeth, I thweal." He looks around the room, his expression a mix of mischief and excitement. "But it's juss tween ush," he whispers, his voice a conspiratorial mumble. Sponge Bob nods solemnly, his eyes wide with interest. "Of course it is, Plankton," he says, his voice filled with the gravity of a secret keeper. “What’s the secret?” Plankton leans in, his speech still slurred but his eye gleaming with mischief. "It'th that I luv... to thee youw," he says, his voice hitching with each word. Sponge Bob's expression shifts from concern to surprise, his eyes watering with laughter. "You love to...see me?" he repeats, trying to make sense of the garbled confession. “Of couth I do, Squishy Bob!” Plankton exclaims with a wobbly smile, his tongue struggling against the unyielding numbness. “Youw the bestest fwiend evar!” Karen watches the exchange with a soft fondness, seeing Plankton’s usual guard down and his true heart shining through. She's never seen him like this before, so open and vulnerable. "Thath right, I do," Plankton repeats, his voice a warm rumble in his chest. Sponge Bob's smile can't help but grow. "That's so nice of you to say, Plankton," he manages to get out between his giggles. Karen can't remember the last time she saw Plankton this way, his usual stoicism stripped away by the remnants of the anesthesia. It's like seeing him as a completely new person, one filled with pure, unfiltered affection. "Ith wove you," Plankton says, his voice thick. "Youw'we my bessst fwiend." Sponge Bob's laughter subsides into a warm smile. "Plankton, I love you too," he says, his voice genuine. Karen's heart swells with love for both of them, watching them share a moment so raw and pure. Plankton's head nods, his drool forming a small puddle on the table. Karen quickly grabs a napkin and dabs his chin. "Thath so sweet, Squishy," he slurs, his eye half- closed with sleep. The room spins around him, a soft, warm embrace that makes his eyelid flutter. He tries to keep it open, but it like heavy curtains pulling him back into slumber. "Ith time for nath nap?" he asks, his voice a sleepy whisper. Karen laughs, her hand gentle as she wipes the drool from his chin. "Almost," she says, her voice like a warm blanket. "First, let's get you to the couch." With Sponge Bob's help, they ease Plankton into his favorite spot, his body sinking into the plush cushions with a sigh of relief. The numbness in his mouth is slowly receding, leaving a tender throb in its wake. He wraps himself in the comfort of his blanket, his mind swirling with the leftover fog of the anesthesia. Whence SpongeBob leaves, Karen saves the footage from the security cameras. Plankton next wakes up in the morning, sore and also without any anesthesia left in his system. Of course, he barely recalls going to the dentist. He doesn’t know what’s happened after leaving the surgery. His mouth feels like a desolate wasteland, each movement a sharp reminder of the procedure. He gingerly prods his swollen cheeks with his tongue, feeling the gaping holes where his wisdom teeth used to be. Karen is by his side. “Karen? Whath happenth?” Plankton says, feeling the aching. “Where…” Her smile is a comforting beacon. “You had wisdom teeth surgery, Plankton. You’re okay, you’re home now. Just rest, you’ve had a long day.” “I remember going in to surgery. That’s all.” Karen brings over a glass of water. "Here, babe," she says, her voice a gentle wake-up call. Plankton takes it, his hand trembling slightly. He sips carefully, the cool liquid sliding down his throat with a soothing grace. He swallows with difficulty, the pain in his throat a reminder of his dental odyssey. "What...what time ish it?" Karen looks at the clock, her expression a mix of amusement and concern. "It's morning, Plankton," she says, her voice a soft chime. "You've been sleeping for a while."

SWEET CWEAM pt. 6 Plankton's eye widen with realization, his memory a jigsaw puzzle with a few missing pieces. "Yeth-terday?" he asks, his voice scratchy with sleep. Karen nods, her smile gentle. "You had surgery yesterday. You're recovering now. Remember?" Plankton's mind fumbles with the memory, like a kite caught in a storm. "I... I think so," he murmurs. “But what happened after?” Karen's smile doesn't falter. "You don't remember?" she asks, a hint of mischief creeping in. Plankton's expression clouds with concern, his eye searching hers for an answer. "What... what did I do?" His voice is a worried whisper, each word a struggle. Karen's mirth evaporates, replaced with understanding. "You don't remember?" she asks gently, sitting on the edge of the couch. "You had a bit of a... loopy afternoon." Plankton's gaze is a mix of confusion and alarm. "Loopy?" he repeats, his voice weak. "What do you mean, loopy?" He demands, embarrassed. Karen's smile returns, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well," she says, her voice a soothing melody. "You were a bit... out of it. You had a bit of fun with the anesthesia." Plankton's face twists with embarrassment, his hand moving to cover his mouth. "Oh no," he whispers, his voice barely a breath. "What did I say?" His mind races with the potential humiliation. Karen laughs. "Don't worry, you were just a little out of it from the anesthesia," she reassures him, her touch gentle as she adjusts his pillows. "But I recorded some of it," she adds, mischief sparkling in her screen. Plankton's eye widens in horror. "Don't tell me I said anything... foolish," he pleads, his voice weak and thready. Karen's laughter fills the room. "Oh, Plankton," she says, her voice warm and loving. "You were just a bit... confused. Wanna see?" She hit the play button. The TV screen flickers to life, and Plankton's face fills the frame. He's drooling heavily, his expression a mix of wonder and bewilderment. Sponge Bob sits across from him. "I frew," Plankton says on the recording, his eye wide with disbelief. "Wike a birdie!" Plankton's face on the couch is surprised. “Why’s Sponge Bob…” He started, but trails off as the video continues. On the TV, a slurred version of his voice says, “They goth me all sleeby and thewe I wath flipping and twirling in the wathah!” "Oh no," he whispers from the couch. “I never…” Plankton stops as he sees himself on the screen lean closer to Sponge Bob. His heart races as his slurred words spill out. "I luv to thee youw," he says to Sponge Bob, his face a picture of drunken affection and drool. “You love to see me?” “Of couth, Squishy! Youw my bestest fwiend evar!” Plankton on the couch is speechless. His cheeks burn with embarrassment as he watches himself on screen, spoon wobbling, drooling, and spilling ice cream. The slurred words of love and friendship to Sponge Bob echo through the room, each syllable a cringe- worthy reminder of his drug-induced confession that he kept to himself, even from Karen. “Sweet Squishy. Ith time for nap?” “Let’s get you to the couch.” And the video ends after he snores. Plankton’s cheeks are a blaze of mortification. “You’re teasing me, right?” he asks, his voice hopeful despite the evidence on the screen. Karen’s laughter is like a warm embrace. “No, Plankton, you really said that,” she says, her screen twinkling. “But it’s okay, people say silly things when they’re coming out of anesthesia. It’s part of the experience!” Plankton groans, his face buried in his hands. The humiliation burns hotter than the pain in his mouth. “How could I have said that?” he mumbles into his palms. Karen laughs, the sound a gentle ripple in the quiet room. “It’s okay, Plankton. It was just the medicine talking. You don’t remember?” He lifts his head slowly, his cheeks still blazing with embarrassment. “No,” he mumbles, his voice muffled by his hands. “But I can’t believe I said that to Sponge Bob! You think I’d willingly…” Karen laughs, her eyes shining with affection. “It’s okay, Plankton. It’s all part of the fun of wisdom teeth surgery!”

SWEET CWEAM pt. 7 “So SpongeBob heard all of it?” He demands. Karen nods, her amusement obvious. "Everything. Even your snoring..” Plankton's face goes from flushed to beet-red. "I… what?" he asks, his voice tiny and ashamed. "You don't remember snoring?" Karen asks, barely keeping a straight face. "It was quite the symphony." Plankton's eye widened in horror. "Snoring?" he repeats, not wanting to believe it. "And in front of Sponge Bob?" Karen nods, her laughter bubbling over. "Oh, Plankton," she says, her voice full of affection. "It was the cutest..." "Cute? This isn't cute, Karen!" He interrupts, his voice rising in disbelief. The embarrassment is palpable in his tone. “And besides, I don’t snore!” Her laughter dies down to a chuckle. "Well, you did yesterday," she says, her eyes dancing with mirth. "Whether or not you do, you did." Plankton's face contorts in a mixture of denial and embarrassment. He can't believe what he's hearing, his mind reeling from the revelation. "But... I... snore?" he stammers, his voice a feeble protest. Karen nods, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "You sure did, Plankton," she says, her tone teasing. The color in his cheeks deepens to a crimson red, his eye wide with disbelief. "But... but I don't snore!" Karen's laughter rolls out like a wave, filling the room with warmth. "Maybe not usually," she says, her smile playful. "But yesterday, oh…" Plankton's mind races, trying to grasp the concept. "But how could I not know?" he asks, his voice a mix of indignation and confusion, a desperate whisper. "But I didn't really mean what’s been supposedly said, right?" His eye darts between her and the now-dark TV screen. "I was just... you know, saying things?" Karen's laughter softens into a warm smile. "You did mean it, Plankton," she says, her tone gentle. "At least your subconscious did. It's just the anesthesia that made it come out so... clearly." His face falls, his eye drooping. "So, it's true?" he whispers. The humiliation washes over him like a cold shower, his pride dampened by the knowledge that his deepest thoughts were laid bare for all to see, even if it was just Sponge Bob and his wife. Karen nods, her screen sparkling with amusement. "But it's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's just part of the anesthesia. And besides, you looked so cute and happy, not to mention snoring away.." Just then, SpongeBob comes back to check and visit. "Hi Plankton!" he says cheerfully, his voice like a trumpet in the quiet room. Plankton's head snaps up, his heart racing at the sight of his friend. "Thponge Bob," he slurs, his voice barely audible. "How uh, how are ya?" Sponge Bob's smile is warm and welcoming. "I'm great, Plankton! How are you feeling?" Plankton's eye darts to Karen, who's still smiling, before returning to his friend. "I'm... I'm ok," he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. The embarrassment of his earlier admission weighs heavily on his shoulders. Sponge Bob notices the change in his demeanor. "You don't seem like it," he says gently. "Is everything okay?" Plankton's throat is tight with nerves. He swallows hard, his eye darting to Karen and back. "I... I had a bit of a... a misunderstanding," he says, his words stumbling over each other like a tangled mess of seaweed. Sponge Bob's face is a canvas of curiosity. "A misunderstanding?" he repeats, his voice innocent. "What kind of misunderstanding?" Plankton's eye narrows slightly, his cheeks still flushed. "Well, I... I don't really remember much from after the surgery," he says, his voice a mix of apology and hope. "But Karen says I... I talked a lot." Sponge Bob's grin doesn't waver. "Oh, you sure did, Plankton!" he says, his voice filled with warmth. "You had some pretty interesting stories to tell." Plankton's eye darts to the floor, his cheeks blazing with embarrassment. "I'm sorry if I... if I said anything weird," he mumbles, his voice tiny and unsure. He's never been one to show his vulnerable side, especially to Sponge Bob, whose good nature he often finds infectious. Sponge Bob's face lights up like a jellyfish in the night. "Weird?" he repeats, his voice filled with innocence. "What do you mean, weird?" Plankton's eye darts around the room, anywhere but at Sponge Bob's gazing eyes. "I... I just meant, you know, things that might not make sense," he says, his voice trailing off. Sponge Bob nods slowly, his smile remaining in place. "Oh, I remember," he says, his voice soft and understanding. "You talked about flying and being a dolphin. It was like listening to a fairy tale!" Plankton's eye flutters shut with relief. "Oh," he breathes. "So I didn't say..." Sponge Bob's smile doesn't fade. "Well, you said you loved to see me," he says, his voice innocent. "But I knew if you meant it, Plankton. You're my best friend too!" Plankton's face is a whirlwind of emotions: embarrassment, relief, and a strange kind of warmth that spreads through his chest. He swallows hard, his throat thick with unspoken words. He's not one to be so open, but the medicine has clearly stripped him of his usual reserve. Karen watches the exchange with love. The rare moment of vulnerability and friendship was something she never knew Plankton was capable of showing. It was a side of him she had never seen before, and it was beautiful. "So, Plankton," Sponge Bob says, his grin as wide as his face, "You're a dolphin, huh? I never knew dolphins snored..” Plankton's face is a mask of horror. "You…" he croaks. Sponge Bob nods, his eyes twinkling. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice soothing. "But it was really sweet to hear you s..." "Snoring?" Plankton interrupts, his voice higher than usual. "You heard me… snoring?" Karen nods, her screen shining with amusement. "But don't worry, it's all part of the recovery process. You needed that rest." Sponge Bob chuckles, his body wobbling with laughter. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice a comfort. "Many people snore sometimes." Plankton's eye narrows slightly, his pride stinging. "But not me," he mumbles, his voice barely a murmur. "I'm not a snorer." Sponge Bob's laughter fills the room, his body wobbling with mirth. "Oh, but you were, Plankton! It was adorable!" Karen's smile is like a beam of sunlight cutting through the embarrassment. "It was, wasn't it?" she says, her voice chiming in with Sponge Bob's laughter. Plankton's face is a map of humiliation, but his mind is racing. He's not one to let his guard down, especially in front of Sponge Bob. "But...but... I'm not one to snore!" he protests weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen's eyes crinkle with laughter. "Well, you did," she says, her voice teasing. "But don't worry, it's nothing to be ashamed of." Sponge Bob nods in agreement. "You looked so peaceful," he adds, his voice warm. Plankton's curiosity gets the better of him, yet not sure if he's ready for the answer. "Can I... can I see the video?" he asks, his voice tentative. Karen's laughter fades into a smile, and she nods, pulling out her phone. "But only if you promise not to get too embarrassed," she warns, her thumbs quickly navigating to the saved clip. The screen lights up with a sleeping Plankton, his snores like the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. Sponge Bob smiles quietly beside him, his body shaking in silent amusement. Plankton watches in horror, his eye wide as his snores echo through the room, his mouth hanging open. Karen hits pause, her smile still in place. "See?" she says, her voice soft. Plankton's cheeks burn with mortification. "I... I can't believe it," he stammers. "I... I snore?" Sponge Bob's laugh softens into a chuckle. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "We all have our moments." Plankton nods slowly, his face still flushed with embarrassment. He takes a deep breath, trying to reclaim some of his usual composure. "I... I guess you're right," he says, his voice a little stronger. Karen's smile doesn't waver. "Of course," she says, placing a hand on his. "Now, let's get some more ice cream.."

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 6 (Autistic author) Plankton's sobbing slowed, his chest heaving. He blinked, his eye focusing on her face. "Love," he murmured. "Karen love." Karen nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. "Yes, I love you," she said, her voice shaky. "And I'll always be here for you." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his single eye searching hers. "Love," he said, his voice still flat. "Karen love Plankton. Good." Sponge Bob nods, though he doesn't know why Plankton's acting so different today. "But Plankton," he says, his voice careful. "Why are you talking like that?" Plankton's antennae droop, his eye reflecting confusion. "Talking?" he repeats. "Plankton not understand. How to speak?" Sponge Bob looked at Karen, his concern etched in his porous face. "It's okay," Karen said soothingly, her voice thick with emotion. "Plankton's just going through something." Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes never leaving his friend's distressed form. "But what happened to him, Karen? What happened with Plankton?" he asked, his voice hushed. Karen takes a deep breath, wiping her own tears away with the back of her hand. "Plankton," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you remember what happened today?" Plankton's antennae twitch as he tries to process her words. "Today," he repeats, his voice distant. "Fell. Head." Karen nods, her screen filled with compassion. "Yes," she says, her voice soft. "You fell and hit your head. It's changed how you see the world a bit." Plankton looks up. "Alterations in the cerebral lobe," he says, his voice flat. "Myelination levels fluctuated. Synaptic activity diminished. Corpus callosum damaged." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes, baby," she says gently. "It's like your brain had to relearn how to talk to the rest of you." Sponge Bob's eyes widened. "Oh no, Plankton," he said softly. "What does that mean? How did you fall?" Plankton's antennae twitched as he recounted the events, his speech still monotone. "Invention. Fall on head hit floor." Sponge Bob's face fell, his heart heavy with concern. "Oh no, Plankton," he said, his voice filled with sympathy. "Is that why you're talking like this?" Karen decides to interject. "It's okay, Sponge Bob," she says, her voice trembling. "It's not just how he's talking. It's his whole...being. It's like he's seeing everything differently now. It's a rarity called 'acquired autistic syndrome' which will be life long with no cure." Sponge Bob's face falls, his spongy cheeks dropping. "But Plankton," he says, his voice full of worry. "What does this mean for you?" Plankton's gaze shifts to his friend, his expression unreadable. "Meaning?" he asks, his voice still monotone. "Plankton different. New patterns." Sponge Bob nods, trying to understand. "But you're still the same Plankton, right?" Plankton's antennae wave slightly as he considers this. "Same," he repeats. "But different." Karen nods, her grip on his hand tightening. "You're still my Plankton," she whispers. "We'll figure this out together."

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 13 (Autistic author) Plankton's antennae twitch slightly in her direction, his eye not quite focusing on her. "Sandy," he murmurs, his voice still flat. Sandy nods, her own heart racing. She's seen his fiery spirit, his sharp mind, but this Plankton is a puzzle of patterns and sensitivity. She takes a deep breath, trying to mirror Karen's calm. "Hi, Plankton," she says slowly, her voice a gentle wave lapping at the shore. He looks at her, his antennae twitching slightly. "Sandy," he murmurs, his voice still devoid of its usual inflection. Sandy's eyes well up with tears. "Hey buddy," she says, her voice a gentle ripple in the calm waters of his room. "How are you feeling?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, as if trying to interpret the meaning behind her words. His eye blinks, focusing on her face. "Okay," he says, his voice a monotone as he sits up. Sandy nods, her heart aching. "Do you remember earlier today when you threw the tantrum?" Plankton's antennae wave erratically, his eye widening. "No," he says, his voice strained. "But now, Plankton feels... angry." The room seems to shrink around him as his frustration boils over. Sandy doesn't realize. "You're not gonna throw another tantrum, are you?" With a sudden burst of energy, he leaps to his feet, his voice a guttural howl. "No, no, no!" Sandy's eyes widen in shock. "Plankton wh..." But she's cut off by his verbal tsunami, a rage-filled torrent of words she's never heard from him before. "No, Sandy, NOT AGAIN!" he yells. "IT'S NOT A TANTRUM!" The room seems to shiver with the force of his voice, and Sandy's eyes widen in shock, her paws trembling. "I'm sorry, Plankton," she stammers, her voice quavering. "I didn't mean..." But he shouts, his voice echoing off the walls. "It's not a game, Sandy! It's not for fun!" The room seems to shrink around him, his words a storm raging in the quiet sanctity of his bedroom. Sandy flinches back, her eyes wide with shock and fear. "Sandy not understand!" Plankton screams, his small body shaking with the intensity of his frustration. "And not about the Krabby Patty formula anymore! SANDY, STOP!" Sandy's eyes widen in fear, her heart racing. This isn't the Plankton she knows. His rage is uncontrolled, his voice a knife cutting through the calm. "Plankton, please," she whispers, her voice trembling. "I just...I want to understand." But Plankton is beyond reason, his eye wild with frustration. "It's not a tantrum!" he screams, his antennae quivering with rage. Karen moves quickly, placing herself between Plankton and Sandy, her body a shield. "Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle breeze against the storm of his rage. "You're upset. It's okay." Sandy sighs. "Is he gonna throw another..." "NO!" Plankton shouts, his voice like thunder in the small space. "It's not a tantrum!" Karen's eyes are filled with a mix of fear and determination as she intervenes. "Plankton," she says, her voice a soothing balm, cutting through the storm of his anger. "You're upset, and that's okay. But please, let's talk about it calmly." Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye flickering between Karen and Sandy. His chest heaves with the effort to contain his rage, his body a coiled spring ready to snap. Karen's voice remains steady, a lighthouse in his chaotic sea. "Let's talk about it," she repeats, her tone soothing. Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his antennae still twitching with residual anger. "It's not a tantrum," he says, his voice a harsh whisper. "It's...overwhelming." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "I know, sweetheart," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "Let's talk about it." Sandy watches from the sidelines, her heart still racing. She's seen Plankton's fiery spirit, his sharp intellect, but this new side of him is frightening. "But..." "It's his autism," Karen explains gently, her hand on his shoulder. "He can't always handle the world's chaos. And I understand you meant to see if he's okay..." "NOT A TANTRUM! NO MORE, ENOUGH SANDY!" Plankton snaps. "I'm just telling her not to say it. What other wording can we use instead, Plankton?" Karen rubs his arm. Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye searching his brain for a solution. "Shutdown," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "Spasm's, Pauses. Moment or mishap. Yes, yes." Sandy nods, her expression a mix of understanding and concern. "I'll remember that," she says, her voice soft. "I'm sorry, Plankton. I didn't mean to upset you." Plankton's antennae slowing. "I'm sorry Plankton," he mumbles, his voice exhausted. Karen nods, her screen filled with love. "It's okay, love," she says, helping him sit back down. "You're okay." Plankton nods, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of his outburst. Sandy watches him, her eyes wide with understanding. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her heart heavy with regret. Plankton's antennae quiver slightly. "Well, I best be going," Sandy says.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 5 (Autistic author) Sponge Bob seems to notice something off about his friend. "Plankton, are you okay?" he asks, his tone concerned. "You seem a bit... distant." Plankton's eye snaps to Sponge Bob, his gaze intense. "Distant?" he repeats, as if the word is new to him. "Plankton not distant. Plankton focusing." Sponge Bob's eyebrows furrow, his confusion clear. "What are you focusing on?" he asks, his voice gentle. Plankton turns back to the clock, his antennae pointing straight up. "Seconds," he says, his voice filled with wonder. "They change, but always in the same pattern." "Well, I know it's your wedding anniversary today. What'd you get Karen?" Plankton turns to face him, his expression unreadable. "Anniversary," he repeats. "Karen." His antennae wave slightly, as if trying to access a distant memory. "Chum." SpongeBob's smile falters at his friend's detached response. "Is that all?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "You know Karen deserves better, more than just..." "Better?" he repeats, his tone now tinged with something new: self-doubt. "Plankton did not provide adequate anniversary celebration?" "Well Plankton, Karen doesn't like it when you're just about work," Sponge Bob said, trying to be delicate. "It's your anniversary. It's a special day for the two of you, yet you don't seem to get it. And I can tell Karen's hurt.." Plankton's eye grew wide, his antennae drooping. The words sank in, and his body reacted in a way he couldn't control. He started rocking back and forth, his body mirroring his inner turmoil. The tears came suddenly, wetting his face as his cries echo in the living room, his tiny body trembling with the weight of his perceived failure. "Karen," he managed between gasps. "Hurt. Karen. No, Karen." Karen rushed to his side, breaking at the sight of his distress. "Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "It's okay, honey. You didn't do anything wrong." But he couldn't hear her, his mind fixated on the thought of causing her pain. The tears streamed down his cheeks. His sobs were loud in the quiet room, each one a testament to his overwhelming guilt. "Karen," he choked out. "Karen, Plankton sorry Karen. Karen." Karen wrapped her arms around him, her own eyes filling with tears. "It's okay," she whispered, stroking his back gently. "You didn't do anything wrong." Plankton's sobs grew louder, his body convulsing with each breath. "Hurt Karen," he kept repeating, as if it was the only thought in his mind. Karen held him tighter, her own sobs muffled against his shoulder. "You didn't hurt me, Plankton," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You just got confused, that's all." But Plankton's mind was stuck on the pattern of his failure, his inability to comprehend and respond to her emotions. "Karen crying, Plankton fault. Sponge Bob say Karen upset." Sponge Bob looked at the two, his heart aching for his friend's pain. He didn't know what to do, his usual cheerfulness replaced with a solemn sadness. He tried to interject, "Plankton, Karen's not upset at you. She's just upset because she loves you." But Plankton's cries only grew louder, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. "Plankton not good," he wailed, his voice high-pitched and desolate. "Plankton hurt Karen." Karen's screen searched desperately for a way to comfort her husband, to show him that his love was enough. But his new neurodivergence made it difficult for him to understand her words, his mind locked in a pattern of guilt and self-loathing. "Plankton," she says, her voice quivering with emotion. "Look at me." She gently cups his cheek, wiping the tears from his face with her thumb. "I love you. You don't have to change for me." But Plankton's gaze remained on the clock, his sobs subsiding to hiccups. "Pattern," he whispers, his antennae drooping. "Missed pattern. Karen, say Karen. Hurt, upset Karen." Karen broke anew, her hands shaking as she tried to reach for him, her voice a whisper. "Plankton, it's okay," she says, her screen pleading. "I'm right here. I'm not upset with you." But Plankton's gaze now fixed on Sponge Bob, his body still shaking with sobs. "Karen," he murmured, his voice muffled by his own distress. "Sponge Bob, Karen." Sponge Bob looked at Karen, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. She nodded slightly, urging him to speak. "Plankton," he said, his voice gentle. "Karen's upset because she's worried about you. She loves you. And so do I." Plankton's sobs began to slow, his gaze shifting from Sponge Bob and then to Karen. "Karen Plankton?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper. "I'm right here," Karen soothed, wiping away the remaining tears with her thumb. "I'm right here, Plankton. I love you."

SWEET CWEAM pt. 4 "Can I hav thome wathermelon?" he asked, his voice a slurry mess. Karen chuckled and shook her head. "Not yet, Plankton. You have to stick to soft foods today. How about some ice cream?" His eye lit up, his smile growing wider, exposing the whiteness of his teeth. "Ith cweam?" he repeated, the words spilling out like a child's first attempt at a sentence. Karen nodded, her own smile a mirror of his. "Yes, soft serve ice cream. It's perfect for your mouth right now." Plankton clapped his hands together in glee. "Ith weal," he declared, his tongue still thick and clumsy. "My faworite!" Karen fetched the promised treat from the freezer, the coolness of the ice cream contrasting sharply with the warmth of the room. She scooped a generous amount into a bowl, handing it to him with a spoon. Plankton's eye lit up, and he took the spoon with the excitement of a toddler getting their first taste of ice cream. With a clumsy attempt at grace, he lifted the spoon to his mouth, the numbness in his face making it difficult to aim. A dribble of ice cream escaped and landed on the table, but he barely noticed, his attention focused on the cold sweetness that washed over his tongue. "Mmh," he mumbled, his voice a mix of pleasure and pain as the frozen treat hit his sensitive gums. "Careful," Karen cautioned, her voice like a lullaby. "You don't want to hurt yourself." Plankton nodded, his movements exaggerated, like a character in a silent movie. The spoon wobbled in his hand as he scooped up another mouthful of the cold cream, his tongue still struggling to navigate the uncharted waters of his own mouth. He managed to get the spoonful into his mouth with minimal spillage, his cheeks hollowing out as he savored the taste. "Wow, thith ith tho good," he mumbled, his words coming out like a muffled shout. Karen couldn't help but laugh as she watched him. His enthusiasm was infectious, even if his coordination was not. He took another bite, the cold sensation making his eye water. "It'th tho cold!" he exclaimed, his voice high-pitched and filled with excitement. The numbness in his cheeks was wearing off now, leaving a tingling sensation that made his words come out slurred and exaggerated. "It's supposed to be cold, Plankton," Karen said, her voice a symphony of patience. "It's ice cream." He nodded, his cheeks red with effort and cold. Each spoonful was a small victory, a dance between the spoon and his uncooperative mouth. Karen’s glad she turned their security cameras on record. Of course, she didn’t tell Plankton. Not yet. Then suddenly, Sponge Bob comes in the door, surprising both of them. "Squishy!" Plankton exclaims, his voice a strange mix of joy and pain. Sponge Bob's eyes widen. "You okay, Plankton?" he asks, looking at Karen for an explanation. Karen nods, still chuckling. "Wisdom teeth surgery," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. "The anesthesia is making his mouth all numb." Sponge Bob's eyes go wide with concern. "Ouchies?" he asks, his own mouth forming a sympathetic grimace. Plankton nods vigorously, the motion sending a shiver down his spine. "Yeth, ouchiesth," he mumbles around the mouthful of ice cream, his speech still slurred like a toddler's. Karen watches the interaction with a soft smile, her heart swelling with affection for her babbling husband. Sponge Bob crosses the room with his usual boundless energy, plopping down next to Plankton. "So, how was your big trip to the dental place?" he asks, his eyes full of concern and curiosity. Plankton looks at his friend with the gravity of a philosopher. "It’th... advehnturous," he says, his mouth still numb, making each word a challenge. Sponge Bob leans in, his spongy body wobbling slightly. "What kind of adventure?" he asks, his eyes shining with curiosity. Plankton's voice takes on a storytelling tone, his words slurred but earnest. "I frew," he says, his eye wide and filled with wonder. "I frew wike a birdie!" Sponge Bob's grin splits his face. "You flew?" he repeats, his voice a mix of disbelief and amusement. Karen's smile widens, listening to the nonsense her husband was spinning. Plankton nods, his eye glazed over. "Yeah," he murmurs, his tongue sluggish. "It wath magithal." Karen and Sponge Bob exchange glances, trying not to laugh. Plankton's childlike awe in the face of his own numbness was both heartwarming and hilarious. "Buh wait," Plankton says, his spoon paused mid-air. "Thath not aww," his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I theen... I theen I wath a dolphin!" Sponge Bob's eyes go wide with fascination. "A dolphin?" he repeats, his voice filled with awe. "How did you do that?" Plankton's smile grows even wider, his cheeks pushing against the swollen skin. "It'th a mithtewwy," he says, his speech still slurred. "They goth me all sleeby and thewe I wath flipping and twirling in the wathah!" Sponge Bob's eyes are as wide as saucers, his imagination running wild with the tale. "Wow, Plankton, that sounds amazing!" Plankton nods, his face a picture of seriousness. "It wath," he slurs, his voice filled with convinction. "Buth then... then I woke up." His expression remains affectionate for he’s too out of it to play it cool in front of Sponge Bob. He’s always wanted him as a good friend but his pride usually stops him; but now, with no filter, Plankton’s not gonna hold back. Sponge Bob looks at Karen with a mix of confusion and delight. "Was it scary?" he asks, his voice gentle. Karen nods, a warm chuckle bubbling up. "A little," she says, her hands folded in her lap. "But he's a tough guy." Plankton's eye swims with emotions, his face flushing with a mix of pride and embarrassment. "Yeath," he says, his tongue still a traitor. "Buh now youw know my thecret."

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 14 (Autistic author) The next day, Karen wakes up to find Plankton already out of bed, his eye fixated on the clock again. Then, a knock on the door alerted both of them. It's Hanna, an old friend of Karen's. "Hanna? Oh, it's been so long!" Karen exclaims as she throws her arms around Hanna, whom Plankton noticed also reciprocated the gesture. So he decided to go sit on the couch. "Oh you're Karen's husband Plankton, right‽" Hanna says. Plankton nods as Karen gets out some refreshments. Hanna sits next to Plankton on the couch, her smile genuine but her tone playful. "So, Plankton, I hear you and Karen had a wedding anniversary! Did you get her anything, or did Karen have to remind you? I bet you cause her so much trouble with your forgetfulness," she laughs. "It's a wonder she keeps you around." Of course, Karen didn't hear Hanna's playful comment, as she's still gathering the refreshments. But Plankton does. His eye widens, his antennae twitching rapidly. He feels the sting of her words, though they were meant to be light-hearted. His body tenses, his mind racing. He knows he's not forgetful; he's different. The patterns of his thoughts clash with her joke, creating a cacophony of confusion and hurt. He doesn't understand the teasing and takes it to heart, thinking he must've caused her trouble. He wordlessly leaves to the bedroom right before Karen returns with the refreshments. "Where's Plankton?" She asks Hanna, who pointed the direction he went. Karen finds him in the bedroom, crying and saying 'Karen' in between his hiccups. His body is rigid with the effort of holding in his sobs. Her heart squeezes with pain as she rushes to him, her arms wrapping around his small frame. "What's wrong, love?" she whispers, her voice filled with concern. Plankton's body shakes with sobs, his antennae limp. "Hanna," he manages to whisper, his voice choked with emotion. Karen's eyes fill with concern. "What about Hanna, sweetheart?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton sniffs, his antennae waving slightly. "Hanna said...she said..." He can't get the words out, his emotions choking him. Karen holds him closer, her voice a whisper. "What did Hanna say, love?" Plankton's sobs intensify, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. "Plankton," he manages to say, his voice a heartbreaking gasp. Karen's heart breaks. "What did she say, love?" she prompts, her voice soft, her eyes filled with understanding. Plankton's antennae twitch in agitation. "Hanna said Plankton cause Karen trouble," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own sobs. "Karen better if Plankton not here." Karen's eyes fill with sorrow, her heart heavy with the weight of his misunderstanding. "Oh, Plankton," she whispers, her voice filled with love and pain. "That was just a joke, she didn't mean..." But Plankton's sobs only grow louder, his body shaking with the intensity of his emotions. "Karen doesn't deserve this," he sobs, his antennae waving erratically. Karen holds him closer, her voice a gentle lullaby. "You don't cause me trouble, love," she says, her eyes filled with tears. "You're just...different now." Plankton's antennae twitch with understanding, his sobs slowly subsiding. "But Hanna..." he says, his voice a whimper. "Not want!" Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "I know, love," she says, her voice soft. "But she'd never mean it that way. She was just being playful, she's nice." Plankton shakes his head, unconvinced. "Hanna did laugh at Plankton. Plankton not cause trouble," he says, his voice shaking with emotion. "Karen Plankton. Plankton loves Karen; Karen and Hanna no..." Plankton can't hold the sobbing back. Karen's eyes fill with tears. "Oh, Plankton," she says, her voice breaking. "Hanna loves you too. She didn't mean it like that. It was just a misunderstanding." Plankton's antennae wave in a pattern that Karen's learned means he's processing her words, trying to fit them into his new reality. "But Hanna said..." His voice trails off, as Hanna herself comes in. "Is everything okay in here? Or is Plankton causing..." she asks, her smile fading when she sees Plankton's tears. Karen turns to Hanna, her expression stern. "What happened?" Hanna's eyes widen in surprise. "I just said hello, and he ran in here crying," she says, her voice filled with concern. Karen's screen tightens with frustration. "What exactly did you say?" she asks, her voice calm but firm. Hanna's eyes widen in understanding. "Oh, no," she says, her voice softening. "I just made a joke about your anniversary. I didn't mean..." But Plankton's sobs only grow louder, his antennae flailing wildly. "Hanna said Plankton cause trouble," he accuses, his body wracked with emotion. "Not joke!" Hanna's eyes widen in horror, her playful smile vanishing as she sees the pain in Plankton's eye. She rushes over, kneeling beside him. "Plankton, no," she whispers, her voice filled with regret. "It was just a joke. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean..." But Plankton's sobs only intensify, his body a storm of emotions he can't control. "IT'S NOT A JOKE!" he cries out. Hanna's eyes fill with tears as she realizes the gravity of her mistake. "Plankton, I'm so sorry," she whispers, her hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. But Plankton's reaction is explosive, his antennae lashing out like whips. "NO!" he screams, his voice a tornado of pain and anger. "ENOUGH HURT!" Hanna looks at Karen. "How often you say he throws these fitful tantrums?" Hanna says, which is the final straw for Plankton. Plankton's antennae quiver with rage. "NO, NOT TANTRUMS!" he shouts, his voice a thunderclap in the small room. "PLANKTON HAS ACQUIRED RESTRICTED FLOW TO THE FRONTAL TEMPORAL POLAR CORTEX!" Hanna looks at him strangely. "W..." "PLANKTON HAS CORPUS CALLOSUM DEACTIVATION IN THE SENSORY INTEGRATION CENTERS!" Plankton shouts, his antennae a blur of movement as he tries to convey his condition's complexity. "Neurotransmitters firing asynchronously, synapses misfiring, it's not a tantrum! SO HANNA NEEDS TO EITHER USE THE CORRECT TERMINOLOGY OR NOT SPEAK AT THE SAME TIME!" Karen's eyes are wide with fear, yet understanding that Plankton is desperate. "Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "It's okay, you don't have to explain." But Plankton's antennae wave frantically, his need for precision a storm in his mind. "HAS TO!" he yells, his voice desperate. "HANNA NOT KNOW THE DIFFERENCE!" Karen nods, her heart swelling with love and pride at his bravery. "Okay, love," she says, her voice soothing. "Let's explain." She takes a deep breath, her eyes never leaving Plankton's as she addresses Hanna. "Plankton has acquired a form of autism, it's called 'autistic shutdowns'. It's not a tantrum, it's his brain's way of shutting down to protect itself from sensory overload. It's from a bad accident.." Hanna's eyes widen in shock, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh my goodness," she whispers, her voice filled with regret. "I had no idea." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "It's been a tough adjustment for us all," she says, her voice gentle. "But we're managing."

SWEET CWEAM pt. 2 Plankton's gaze shifted to the ceiling, where shadows danced in the harsh fluorescent light. He tried to remember, but his thoughts were like grains of sand slipping through his fingers. "Karen," he whispered, his voice tiny and lost. "My tweef?" Her smile never wavered, her eyes steady on his. "Don't worry about your teeth now. They're all taken care of." Plankton's mind raced, trying to grasp the concept of missing teeth. He swallowed, the movement painfully sluggish in his throat. "Buh... buth how?" "They used a special kind of sleepy medicine," she explained, her voice a calm lullaby in the stark reality of the recovery room. "It made sure you didn't feel any pain." Plankton's eye grew rounder still, his curiosity piqued. He felt a strange giggle bubble up from his chest, the absurdity of the situation tickling his funny bone. "Sleeby meds?" he repeated, the words coming out like a slurred song. The nurse, used to seeing patients in various states of post-op confusion, just smiled. "Yes, the sleepy medicine," she said, her voice a comforting lilt. "It's to keep you calm and pain-free." Plankton's eye wandered to the IV drip next to his bed, the clear fluid snaking into his arm. "Meee," he managed. The nurse followed his gaze and explained, "That's just some fluids to keep you hydrated, Mr. Plankton. You've been asleep for a little while." Karen watched as his eye grew distant, his mind adrift in the sea of anesthesia. The drool trickled down his chin, and she tenderly dabbed it away with a tissue. "Do you remember anything?" Plankton's gaze flickered, and a faint smile tugged at his numb lips. "I 'member flying," he murmured, his voice a whisper of a dream. "I thaw youw were thewe," he said, his eye half-closed. "Youw wuz a buttefly." Karen's eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and concern. "I was a butterfly?" she repeated, playing along. "That's sweet, Plankton." He nodded, his eye glazed with a dreamy expression. "Yew wuz," he insisted, his voice still slurred. Karen couldn't help but laugh, the tension of the day finally breaking. "Okay, my little butterfly," she whispered, her thumb brushing his cheek. "Why don't we go home?" The nurse nodded, preparing the discharge papers. "You can take him now," she said, handing them to Karen. "Make sure he gets plenty of rest and stick to soft foods for the next few days." Karen helped Plankton to his feet, his body protesting the sudden movement. He swayed like a willow in the wind, his arm draped heavily over her shoulders. Together, they shuffled out of the recovery room, his feet dragging against the floor as if tethered to an invisible weight. The numbness in his mouth had spread to his cheeks, giving his face a lopsided smile that made him feel like a clown, his mouth still frozen in a lopsided smile as he chuckles. Karen led him out of the clinic. Plankton’s eye closed as he suddenly tilted onto her, letting out a little snorelike snort. "Plankton, wake up," she giggled, half-supporting his weight. The fresh air hit his face like a slap, waking him up just enough to realize his mouth was still as numb as a brick. He tried to speak, but it was like his tongue had forgotten how to move. "Wha...?" he mumbled, his eye searching for understanding. The world around Plankton was a blur of shapes and colors. "Walky," he slurred, his legs like jelly under him. Karen guided him to the car, his legs moving as if through molasses. Once inside, he fidgeted with the seatbelt, his fingers refusing to cooperate. "Let me," she said, buckling him in, making his eye go wide again. "Thathks," he muttered, “I thee the twess," he said, his voice filled with wonder as if he had just been born. Karen chuckled, starting the car. The engine hummed to life, and Plankton's eye followed the world as it moved past the window, his gaze unfocused and innocent. "Lookit the twess," he said, his voice filled with awe. "They'we aww bending to shay hewwo." Karen couldn't help but laugh at his slurred words. "Yes, they do that when it's windy," she explained, her voice a comforting balm to his confused mind.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 4 (Autistic author) Karen takes a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions in check. They need to find a way to connect, to bridge the gap that's grown between them. "Plankton," she says, "can you tell me about your day?" He looks at her, his eye blinking slowly. "Day," he repeats, his voice lacking the usual inflection. "Plankton worked on invention." Karen nods, trying to encourage him. "What kind of invention?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. "Invention for Plankton," he says. "To make Karen Plankton happy." Karen's eyes fill with tears. Despite the lack of emotion in his words, she can feel the sincerity behind them. He's trying to connect, to share his world with her. "Looks like we both finished our dinner," she says, trying to keep the conversation going. "What's next on your agenda?" Plankton looks at her, his expression unchanged. "Agenda," he says, as if trying to remember the concept. "Plankton's next task. No get Krabby Patty formula. Rather spend time with Karen." Karen clenches at his words. Despite the flatness of his tone, she can feel his intention to please her, to make their anniversary special. "Let's clean up," she suggests, rising from her chair. Plankton follows suit, moving in a way that seems almost robotic. They work in silence, Karen placing the dishes in the sink and Plankton methodically wiping down the table. As she washes the plates, Karen watches him out of the corner of her screen. His movements are precise and efficient, with no wasted effort. It's as if he's calculating every action, trying to understand the purpose behind each task. "Plankton," she says softly, turning off the faucet. "Could you please dry these for me?" She hands him a towel and a plate. He takes them without a word, his gaze flicking from the towel to the plate, as if studying the physics of the interaction. He carefully wipes the plate, his movements measured and deliberate. Karen watches him with a mix of pride and pain. Despite his new condition, he's still trying to be the partner she knows. She forces a smile, trying to ignore the ache in her chest. "Thank you," she says, taking the dried plate from him and placing it in the cupboard. "You're doing great." He nods, his antennae twitching slightly. "Great," he echoes. "Karen happy." As they go to the living room, Plankton's gaze is drawn to the digital clock on the wall. His eye fixates on the changing seconds, each tick a silent metronome in their otherwise quiet space. Karen notices and wonders if she should be concerned about his newfound interest in something so mundane. "Clock," he says, his voice still monotone. "Time changes. Incremental." Karen follows his gaze to the digital clock on the wall, the red numbers flipping from one second to the next with a quick, silent efficiency. "Does the clock bother you?" she asks, noticing his fixation. Plankton shakes his head, his eye still glued to the display. "No," he says, his voice thoughtful. "Time. Changes. Fascinating." Karen watches him, seeing a spark of curiosity she hadn't noticed before. "You've never liked clocks before," she points out, trying to keep the conversation going. "What's so interesting about it now?" Plankton's antennae wave slightly as he tries to explain. "Clock," he says, his voice still flat. "Time. Changing. Predictable." His single eye remains locked on the red digits, the fascination growing. "Seconds restart each minute." Karen nods, watching his expression closely. "It's like a pattern," she suggests. "A routine that doesn't change." Plankton nods, his eye still glued to the clock. "Pattern," he repeats. "Comforting." Karen nods, feeling a glimmer of hope. "Maybe you find comfort in the predictability?" she offers. Plankton's antennae bob slightly, as if considering this new perspective. "Comfort," he murmurs. "Consistent. Understood." Karen sits down beside him, her screen drawn to the clock as well. "Tell me more about the pattern," she says, trying to find a way into his new reality. "What do you see when you look at it?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly as he considers his answer. "Pattern," he repeats. "Time, changing. Predictable." His voice is softer now, almost lost in thought. "One, two, three, four, five. Always same." Karen nods, her screen still on the clock. "It's like counting," she says. "Do you like counting?" Plankton's antennae twitch once again. "Counting," he repeats, his tone thoughtful. Suddenly, Sponge Bob comes in. "Plankton," he says, his eyes wide with excitement. "What are you guys up to?" Karen looks over, a forced smile on her screen. "Just talking about time," she says, hoping SpongeBob's entrance will provide some much-needed distraction from the heaviness of their conversation.

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 6 (Neurodivergent author) The conversation turns to their favorite food, and Plankton's face lights up briefly. "Jellyfish," he murmurs, his voice lost in the noise. Hanna's friends look at him, puzzled by his quiet confidence. One of them, Patricia, leans in, her hand patting Plankton's back. "That's cool, buddy," she says, her voice booming. Plankton's body stiffens, his eye blinking rapidly. Karen feels his discomfort like a physical force, a tightening of the air around them. She interjects gently, guiding the conversation away from food, his favorite topic now a minefield of potential stress. "So, what have you all been up to?" she asks, her voice a lifebuoy in the storm. Hanna's friends chatter away, their voices a symphony of laughter and good cheer. Plankton sits stiffly, his antennae folded inward like a turtle's shell. Karen watches him, ready to jump in if the conversation starts to spiral. "I went on a deep-sea dive last week!" exclaims one, his words a sonic boom to Plankton. "Ya ever been diving b'fore?" Karen nods at the storyteller, interjecting gently. "Plankton's not much of a swimmer," she says, her voice a gentle current. "But he loves the thought of exploring the deep sea." Her words are a shield, deflecting the spotlight from his discomfort. Hanna's friends nod, their smiles dimming slightly in understanding. Patricia leans in, her eyes full of genuine affection. "Aww, Plankton, you're such a character!" she says, lightly cupping his cheek and invading his personal space. The contact is too much for him. His body jerks back, antennae stiffening, his eye wide with panic. Patricia's hand falls away, her expression one of shock and confusion. Karen's heart skips a beat, but she's ready for this. She's studied, prepared. "It's ok," she says, her voice a lighthouse beam in the sensory storm. "Plankton just needs his space." The room goes quiet, the waves of conversation receding like a tide. They all look at him, their eyes full of concern, their smiles now tentative. Plankton's antennae twitch, his body still tense. Hanna quickly asks, "Is he just tired?" The lie hangs in the air like a bubble waiting to pop. Karen's face tightens, but she nods, playing along. "Long week," she adds, her voice as smooth as a polished pebble. Plankton's gaze locks onto his hands, his fingers twisting together like seaweed in a current. The pressure builds, each laugh a wave pushing against the dam of his anxiety. But Karen is there, her hand on his back, a gentle reminder that he's not alone. The meal is a dance of flavors and sounds, each bite of stew a step closer to the edge of his comfort zone. Plankton's eye dart around the table, the conversations swirling like the soup in his bowl. Hanna's enthusiastic friends keep glancing over. They mean well, but their affection feels like a wave crashing over him, leaving his nerves exposed and raw. The clatter of silverware and the hum of conversation form a wall of sound, trapping his thoughts. He takes a deep breath, trying to find the calm in the chaos. Karen's hand on his back is a comfort, her touch a gentle reminder that she's there to help him. The meal stretches on, each bite a small victory in the face of overwhelming stimulation. Karen's eyes never leave him, scanning for signs of distress. She's his compass in a stormy sea, guiding him through the unpredictable currents of social interaction. As dessert arrives, the chatter grows louder, the laughter more boisterous. The candles flicker, casting a dizzying array of shadows across the table. Plankton's hands shake as he lifts his spoon. Hanna, noticing his discomfort, reaches out to pat his back. "You okay, buddy?" she asks, yet her touch unintentionally sends a shockwave through Plankton's body. "Just a little overwhelmed," he murmurs, his antennae retreating even further. Karen's grip on his hand tightens, her eyes a beacon of calm in the storm. She whispers, "You're doing so well, Plankton," her voice a lullaby against the clamor of the room. But Patricia, not quite tuned in to his distress, leans in with a boisterous laugh, her hand landing on Plankton's shoulder. The room spins around him, a tornado of colors and sounds. "You're just so cute when you're shy!" she says, squeezing his cheek. And that's what did it. With a gasp, Plankton's body shudders, a seizure starting to inevitably take hold. This is his second meltdown since the diagnosis, Karen knew. She gently helps Plankton to the floor, his body convulsing. Hanna's friends hover, their faces a canvas of confusion and fear. "Everyone, stay calm," Karen instructs, her voice steady despite the chaos in her heart. "Give us some space." She turns her attention to Plankton, her hands guiding his body into a safe position. The room's energy shifts. Hanna's friends look on, their laughter replaced by concern. Patricia's face is a picture of horror. "PLANKTON‽" Karen's voice is a lighthouse beacon in the chaos. "Everyone, stay back," she says firmly. "He'll be okay." Her eyes never leave Plankton's contorted form, fear and determination melding into one fierce gaze. The room goes still, the laughter choked off like a switch. Hanna's friends stare, their smiles frozen like icebergs in the face of his distress. Karen whispers to him, her voice a gentle wave. "You're okay, just breathe." Her hand is on his forehead, her touch cool and calming. The seizure subsides, leaving him limp and panting on the floor, his antennae drooping like tired leaves. Karen's heart is racing, but she forces her voice to be soothing, her eyes never leaving his. "It's okay," she repeats, her mantra a lifeboat in the storm. Hanna's friends hover, their faces a canvas of shock and concern. Patricia's hand is still hovering, her smile gone, replaced by a look of horror. "What happened?" she stammers, her eyes wide with fear. "It's okay," Karen repeats, her voice a gentle tide, washing over the silence. "Plankton just had a little...mishap." Hanna's friends exchange worried glances, their smiles nowhere to be seen. The room feels colder, the warmth of their laughter long gone. Plankton finally opens his eye, the room swimming back into focus, still twitching with the aftermath. Hanna's friends hover, their faces painted with confusion and concern. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice a soft breeze in the storm. "Plankton just needs some space." Patricia nods, her smile fading like a sunset. "I'm so sorry," she says, inching closer. "He's just a little sensitive," Karen explains, her voice a lifeline in the awkward silence. Patricia's face falls, the horror of her mistake written clearly. "I had no idea," she whispers, her voice a leaf fluttering in the breeze of their new reality.

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 5 (Neurodivergent author) Karen returns to the bedroom, where Plankton is already snoring softly. She pulls the covers up to his chin, tucking in gently. She sits in the chair beside his bed, never leaving his peaceful form. His chest rises and falls in the steady rhythm of sleep, each breath a testament to his resilience. Karen watches him, her mind racing with thoughts of what the future holds, the challenges they'll face together. But for now, she forces herself to be still. Plankton's antennae twitch in his sleep, as if he's navigating the vast underwater world of his dreams. Karen watches him, full of a love she didn't know existed. The soft snores from Plankton's tiny form are music to her. In his sleep, the weight of the world is lifted, his mind free to explore the vast depths of his underwater universe without fear. Her gaze lingers on the soft lines of his face, the tension erased by the gentle embrace of slumber. She smiles, her eyes filling with tears. The room is a sanctuary, a bubble of quiet amidst the storm of confusion and fear. The shadows play across the wall, telling silent stories of adventures that await when he wakes. Karen reclines in the chair, her hand resting gently on his arm. The nap stretches into an hour, then two, the house a cocoon of peace around them. Plankton's body relaxes into the embrace of the bed, his mind swimming through a sea of tranquility. Karen sits by his side, her hand still resting on his arm. She thinks of the Plankton she knew before, his quirks and routines now painted with the brushstroke of understanding. Autism isn't a label to shrink from, but a part of him to be embraced, a piece of the intricate tapestry that makes him who he is. In his sleep, Plankton starts to murmur, his words a jumble of half-thoughts. Karen leans closer, trying to make sense of the words. "...I...Karen...love." Her hand squeezes his arm gently, her thumb tracing circles on his skin. "I love you too, Plankton," she whispers back, her voice a soft lullaby. Plankton's sleep-talk starts up again. "...so many stars," his voice murmurs, his antennae twitching with the vividness of his dream. Karen smiles, imagining the vast cosmos that must exist in his mind. Her hand continues its gentle caress, her hand stroking his antennae in a calming pattern. "Shh, Plankton, it's just a dream," she soothes. His snoring starts again, a soft, rhythmic sound that fills the quiet. She smiles, her eyes still on his peaceful form. The world outside their sanctuary seems to fade away, its worries and noises muted by the wall of their understanding. Plankton's autism is a challenge, but it's also a bridge that's brought them closer, a shared secret that only the two of them understand. As Plankton sleeps, Karen's phone vibrates with a text from her friend, Hanna. "Dinner tonite?" Her thumb hovers over the keyboard, debating. Plankton's diagnosis is still fresh, the memory of his seizure a stark reminder of the fragility of his newly understood world. But she knows the importance of keeping up appearances, of not letting fear or pity define them. With a sigh, she texts back, "We'd love to. Your place." The evening stretches before them like a tightrope, a delicate balance between Plankton's needs and the social norms that often feel like a prison for him. Karen's mind whirs with strategies to make it work. A quiet place, familiar faces, a set schedule. These are the keys to a successful outing. Gently, she shakes him awake, her touch as light as a seashell on the shore. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye fluttering open. He looks up at her with sleepy confusion, the world still a blur. "Dinner with Hanna," she says, keeping her voice low and soothing. He nods, his body already tensing in anticipation of the sensory bombardment to come. The car ride is a symphony of preparation, the engine's hum a soothing background to their silent conversation. Karen's eyes are on the road, but her mind is on Plankton, his hands fidgeting in his lap. She knows the world outside is a minefield of sounds and sensations, so she keeps the radio off and the windows up, creating a bubble of quiet around them. Plankton's breathing is shallow, his antennae twitching with each passing car. Karen reaches over to squeeze his hand, a silent reminder that she's there. He looks at her, his eye filled with a mix of fear and gratitude. She smiles, the warmth of her gaze a lifeline in the chaos. "We're almost there," she says, her voice a gentle wave lapping at the shore. They arrive at Hanna's house, a beacon of light in the deep blue sea of the night. The door opens, revealing a whirlwind of laughter and chatter, the smell of garlic bread and seafood stew wafting out. Karen takes a deep breath, steeling herself for the evening ahead. Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye wide at the unfiltered stimulation. Hanna, oblivious to their new dynamic, waves them in with a cheerful smile. "You're just in time!" she exclaims, her voice a trumpet in the quietude of Plankton's mind. Karen's hand tightens around his, a silent reassurance as the door closes, the sound a thunderclap in his ears. The house is a cacophony of sounds and smells, a whirlpool of sensory information threatening to pull him under. He gulps, his breathing shallow, his body braced for the inevitable. Hanna, their friend, is a whirlwind of energy, her eyes sparkling like the ocean's surface. She doesn't notice the tension in Plankton's body, the way he flinches at her excited exclamations. She doesn't see the way his antennae twitch, his mind racing to keep up. But Karen does. She's his lifeline in this tumultuous sea of social interactions. She nods, smiling, as Hanna leads them to the dinner table, her hand squeezing Plankton's in silent support. The room is a kaleidoscope of colors, the clatter of silverware and laughter a symphony of overwhelming sound. Karen's eyes dance over the room, noting each potential trigger. "Hey, ladies; meet Karen and Plankton!" Hanna's enthusiastic introduction was like a tidal wave crashing over the quiet bubble they'd been in. Plankton flinched, his antennae retreating like snails into their shells. Karen offered a forced smile, her eyes darting around the room, searching for an anchor. The dinner table was set with a rainbow of plates and bowls, the smell of garlic bread and seafood stew overwhelming. Hanna's home was a sensory minefield, but Karen was determined to navigate it with grace. Plankton's hand was cold in hers, a silent plea for rescue. As they sit, Karen scans the table, noticing the flickering candles, the glint of silverware, and the clinking of glasses. Each detail a potential trigger. She whispers into Plankton's ear, "Remember, if you need to, just tell me." He nods, his antennae tucking closer to his head.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 7 (Autistic author) Sponge Bob leaves, and it's bed time. The room is dimly lit. Karen helps Plankton into bed, his movements stiff and unyielding. "Pattern," he murmurs, his eye scanning the ceiling. "Ceiling. Pattern." Karen nods with love. "It's beautiful," she agrees, her voice soft. "But Plankton, it's time for bed. Can I get you anything?" He shakes his head, his antennas drooping slightly. "No, thank Karen. Pattern. Sleep." Karen nods, aching for the man she loves, now lost in a world of patterns and precision. "I'll be here if you need me," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. He nods, his gaze never leaving the ceiling. "Pattern," he murmurs. "Safe." Karen lies beside him, their bodies close but their worlds feeling so far apart. She reaches out, her hand trembling as it touches his arm. "Do you want me to turn the lights off?" she asks, her voice tight with uncertainty. Plankton nods, his gaze still on the ceiling. "Pattern," he murmurs. "No patterns. Sleep." Karen nods, her fingers tracing the outline of his arm, feeling the tension in his body ease slightly. She gently pulls the blanket up to his chin, tucking it in around him. "Okay, I'll keep the light off low," she says, her voice soothing. "But if you need anything, just let me know." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. "Pattern," he murmurs. "Sleep." Karen nods, her own exhaustion weighing heavily on her shoulders. She lies down. "I'll be right here," she whispers, her hand finding its way to his. Plankton's antennae twitch again as he feels her warmth, the sensation unexpected and slightly overwhelming. "Karen," he says, his voice sleepy. "Warmth." Karen smiles, her eyes closed. "I know," she whispers. "It's okay. I'm here." Plankton's grip tightens slightly, his antennae relaxing. "Pattern," he says, his voice a mere murmur. "Karen. Sleep." Karen squeezes his hand back, aching for the man she loves, now lost in a world where the simple act of holding hands is a complex dance of sensory input and emotional regulation. "Pattern," she whispers back, her voice soothing. "We'll make new patterns together." Plankton's antennae quiver, his grip on her hand steadying. "New patterns," he repeats, his voice slightly more present. "Together." Karen nods, her eyes squeezed shut. "Together," she whispers, her voice shaky. "We'll make it work." Karen can feel Plankton's body begin to relax, his grip on her hand loosening slightly. As they lay there, Karen thinks back to their past anniversaries, each one filled with laughter, love, and the promise of adventure. This one was different, marked by a stark reality she wasn't prepared for. But she knows she'll do anything for him. Plankton's breathing evens out, his body slowly releasing tension. His hand is still in hers, a silent promise that she'll always be there for him. Karen wonders what tomorrow will bring, how they'll navigate this new world of patterns and precision. As sleep takes over, she whispers, "I love you, Plankton," hoping that his subconscious can still hear her, still understand the depth of her feelings. Karen listens to the sound of Plankton's snoring as she falls asleep. The next morning, Karen wakes up to Plankton still holding her hand as his antennae twitch in his sleep. She gently withdraws, careful not to wake him, and she can't help but smile through her tears that threaten to fall. In the kitchen, she starts making breakfast, trying to recall what she'd read about autistic individuals and their preferences. She remembers that Plankton used to love Krabby Patties, but now his taste might have changed. With care, she prepares a plate of square eggs and perfectly aligned toast, knowing that the visual symmetry might provide comfort. She even arranges the condiments in a pattern she hopes he'll find pleasing. As Plankton enters the room, his eye immediately scans the table, his antennae twitching. He takes a seat, his movements mechanical. "Breakfast," he says, his voice devoid of his usual zest. Karen's watching him closely. "Yes, Plankton," she says, her voice steady despite the fear swirling inside her. "I made you your favorite." He nods, his gaze locking onto the plate before him. His hand reaches out, his movements calculated. He picks up a piece of toast, studying it before placing it back down. "Pattern," he whispers, his antennae waving slightly. Karen watches him. "Would you like to eat?" she asks, her voice tentative. Plankton's antennae wave slightly. "Eat," he says, his voice flat. "Pattern." Karen nods, her smile forced. "Okay," she says, taking a seat opposite him. "Let's eat together." Plankton's antennae twitch as he looks at her, his gaze quickly shifting to the breakfast she's prepared. He picks up a piece of toast, examining it closely before taking a bite, his jaws moving in a precise, mechanical manner. Karen watches him, her screen filled with a mix of worry and love. "Is it good?" she asks, her voice hopeful. Plankton nods, his mouth still chewing. "Symmetry. Good." Karen's heart squeezes at his response. It's not the same, but it's something. "I'm so glad you like it," she says, forcing cheerfulness into her tone. "That makes me happy!" Plankton nods, his antennae barely moving. "Happy," he repeats. "Karen happy."

SWEET CWEAM pt. 3 The car ride home was a blur of sights and sounds that Plankton struggled to make sense of. The sun was bright, piercing through the numbness like a needle. He leaned his head against the cool glass of the window, watching the world slide by like a slow-moving painting. "Muh face ith funny," he mumbled, poking at his cheek with a finger. The skin felt like it didn't belong to him, a puffy alien appendage attached to his face. Karen just smiled, her eyes on the road. "You're just a bit swollen, Plankton. It'll go down soon," she soothed. "Buh ith wobbly," he laughs. "Muh tongue feelth bith," he complained. Karen's smile grew wider, her eyes never leaving the road. "It's the anesthesia, sweetie. It'll wear off." Plankton's eye grew even wider at her words, his mouth moving in silent protest. "Ith not funny," he slurred, his voice a comical mix of indignation and innocence. Karen couldn't help but laugh a little, the tension of the day finally easing. "I know, I know," she soothed, her eyes dancing with mirth. "But you're so cute when you're all sleepy and confused." Plankton's eye narrowed, the childish innocence fading a touch. "Cuth?" he repeated, his voice a mix of hurt and indignance. "I'm not cuth. I'm in pwain," he whined, his words slurring together like wet paint. Karen's laughter filled the car, a soothing balm to his bruised ego. "I know you are, Plankton," she said, her voice a warm caress. "But you're also really adorable." Plankton pouted, his cheek pressing against the window. The cold glass felt good against his swollen skin. "I'm not thorable," he murmured. Karen's laughter was a gentle melody that floated through the car, turning into their driveway. "You're not a baby. You're my brave husband." Plankton's pout turned into a lopsided smile at the praise. "Thathks," he murmured. The garage door rumbled open, and Karen helped him into the Chum Bucket. Once inside, the coolness of their living room washed over him like a wave. He looked around with fresh eyes, as if seeing their home for the first time. "Wook at the wawws," he said, stumbling over to them. "They'we so big." Karen followed, shaking her head and smiling at his disjointed words. "Yes, dear, they're the same walls as always." He looked at her with wonder, his thoughts racing like a child's. "Buth they'we nah alwaysth big," he insisted, his voice filled with awe. Karen just smiled, leading him to the couch. "You're feeling a bit loopy from the medicine," she said, helping him sit down. Plankton's eye lit up as he examined the cushions. "Theth awe soggy," he exclaimed, his voice filled with delight. Karen chuckled, helping him settle into the plush seat. The numbness was slowly receding, but his tongue remained a traitor, tripping over every word. He looked around the room with fresh curiosity, his thoughts swirling like colored sugar in a cup of tea.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 2 (Autistic author) He blinked a few times, his vision clearing slowly. He saw her face, wet with tears, and his own realization dawned. "Oh, Karen," he whispered, his voice filled with remorse. Plankton struggled to sit up, wincing as pain shot through his head. The lab looked the same, but something felt off. The air was charged with an unspoken tension that Plankton couldn't quite put his finger on. He tried to recall the argument, but the details were fuzzy. All he knew was that he'd fallen, and now Karen was apologizing for something she wasn't even at fault for. He looked into her screen, searching for answers. "What happened?" he asked, his voice hoarse. Karen took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she had to say. "You had an accident in the lab," she replied, her voice calm and measured. "You hit your head." But as she watched him, she noticed something else. His movements were stiff, his gaze unfocused. He wasn't quite the same. Karen noticed that his usual vibrant expressions were absent, replaced by a vacant stare. She chalked it up to lightheadedness. "Karen," Plankton began, his voice still slurred. "Karen." He paused, his eye darting around the room as if searching for words. Karen felt a cold knot form. Something was different about him, something she couldn't quite place. His movements were rigid, his gaze unwavering, like he was seeing her but not really seeing her. "What is it?" she asked, trying to keep the worry out of her voice. Plankton's eye finally met hers, but there was no spark of recognition, no mischievous twinkle that she was used to. "Plankton glad to see Karen," he said, his tone flat and unemotional. That wasn't right. "Plankton, do you know where you are?" she asked nervously. Plankton nodded slowly, his gaze still unnaturally focused. "Home," he responded, his voice devoid of the warmth and love she was accustomed to. "The Chum Bucket." Karen's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of the man she knew, but all she found was a distant shadow. Panic began to creep in as the gravity of the situation started to dawn on her. This wasn't just a bump on the head. Something was very wrong. "Do you remember me?" she asked, her voice trembling. Plankton's eye searched her, his expression unchanging. "Karen," he responds correctly. "Wife of Plankton. Computer wife as of July 31, 1999." The words hit Karen like a cold wave. He knew her name, but the way he said it, like he was recounting a fact rather than speaking to his beloved wife, chilled her to the bone. She felt the ground shift beneath her, her world tilting on its axis. "Plankton, what's wrong?" she asked, desperation seeping into her voice. He looked at her, his gaze unblinking. "Wife Karen," he said, his voice robotic. "Irritated with Plankton's lack of attention to anniversary dinner." The words were right, but the emotion, the love, the personality behind them was gone. It was like talking to a stranger, a very tiny, very confused stranger. Karen felt a tear roll down her screen. "Plankton, can you hear me?" she asked, her voice quivering. "I'm not just 'Wife Karen', I'm your Karen. Your partner, your best friend." Plankton's response was a mechanical nod. "Affirmative," he said, his tone unwavering. "Karen is wife. Plankton is husband." The coldness of his words cut through Karen like a knife. Her eyes searched his, desperately trying to find any sign of the man she knew was in there. "Plankton," she said softly, "it's me. It's Karen. Do you understand?" He nodded again, his antennae barely twitching. "Understood," he replied, his voice devoid of inflection. "And Karen is upset?" Karen nodded, trying not to crumble. "Yes, I'm upset," she managed to say, her voice choked with emotion. "But more than that, I'm scared. You're not acting like yourself, Plankton." He blinked, his gaze shifting slightly. "Scared," he echoed, as if trying to understand the concept. "Why Karen scared?" "Because you're not you," Karen managed to whisper, breaking with every robotic response. "You're acting so... different." Plankton tilted his head, trying to process her words. "Different how?" he asked, his voice still lacking any emotional depth. Karen took a deep breath, trying to explain something she didn't fully understand herself. "You're not showing your feelings," she said. "You're not... connecting with me like you usually do." Plankton's face remained a mask of confusion. "Connections," he muttered. "Emotional bonds." He nodded slowly. "Important for relationship. Plankton in love with Karen." Karen felt a flicker of hope. "That's right," she said, her voice gentle. "I know you love me. But you're not showing it, not like before." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he processed this new information. "Plankton must adjust behavior to align with Karen's desired emotional output; how?" Karen felt a pang of sadness. He was trying to understand, but his usual charm was nowhere to be found. She took his hand in hers. "Just talk to me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me what you're thinking, what you're feeling." Plankton looked at her, his expression still vacant. "Plankton thinking about Karen," he said, his voice flat. "Plankton feeling determined." Karen's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of the emotion his words conveyed. "Determined to what?" she asked, hopeful. "Determined to what," he echoed. "Karen saying, determined to what. Plankton determined to show Karen love, Karen saying determined to what." Karen realized the depth of his change. This wasn't just a concussion or a temporary loss of memory; it was something much more profound, something that had stripped him of his very essence. "Plankton," she began, her voice shaking, "I don't know what happened to you, but I need you to try. Can you tell me how you feel?" But then he starts to rock back and forth to stim, humming their wedding song. The sight of her husband's usually expressive features now so vacant and his movements so repetitive was alarming. Karen felt a sob rise in her throat, but she pushed it down. She needed to stay strong, for him. "Plankton," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Look at me. I need you to focus. Can you tell me how you feel, in your own words?" He stopped rocking and turned his head to look at her, his eye still distant. "Feelings," he repeated. "Love, anger, sadness, joy. Concepts. Plankton has them. Karen saying, determined to what." Karen's hope sank. The realization was setting in. This wasn't just a case of a bump on the head. Plankton's accident had changed him in a way she didn't fully comprehend. The lab, once filled with the warmth of his passion and dreams, now felt cold and sterile. Her mind raced as she searched for any indication of the man she knew. The way he spoke, the way he moved, it was as if a switch had been flipped. "Plankton, does your head hurt?" "Cephalgia via blunt force trauma. Getting better." He responds, flapping his hands. Karen's eyes widened at his unexpected use of medical terminology. "neurodivergence," she thought to herself. Could it be that her husband had somehow developed something from the fall? It was a long shot, but the lack of emotional connection, the repetitive behaviors, and the rigidity of his speech patterns were all hallmarks of it. She scans his brain and connected herself to the monitor. Plankton looks over and sees the brain scan. "Plankton's brain?" "Yes, Plankton.." Karen says. "Cerebellar cortex reduced synapses and showing minimal activity in the corpus callosum. Irreversibly reduced blood flow in between hemispheric..." "I've no idea what you're saying, honey." Karen interrupts. Plankton's face falls, his usual playfulness replaced by a look of confusion. "Neurotypical communication error," he says, his voice laced with frustration. "Karen, Plankton trying to say the fall caused disruption to myelination.." Karen's eyes widen in shocked confusion. "Myelination? Plankton, are you okay?" she asks, her voice laced with fear. Plankton nods, his gaze fixed on the brain scan. "Neuroplasticity. Synaptic pruning. Autism acquisition," he says, his words coming out in a rush. Karen's mind reels at his diagnosis. Autism? It couldn't be. But as she looks at his rigid body language and his lack of emotional expression, she can't deny it.

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COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 4 (Neurodivergent author) Mr. Krabs's expression shifts from shock to one of bewilderment. "Plankton, I don't understand," he says, his voice barely a whisper. Plankton shakes his head, his antennae trembling. "You never did," he snaps back. The accusations come out in a torrent, each one cutting deeper than the last. "You used me, manipulated me, all for your stupid secret formula!" His voice shakes with anger, his eye filling with unshed tears. Karen's grip tightens on his arm, but she doesn't speak, knowing he needs this moment of release. Mr. Krabs's face falls, the weight of Plankton's words a blow he wasn't expecting. "I-I-I've always treated ya like a friend!" he stammers, his claws grabbing Plankton's shoulders. And that's what did it. Plankton's body tenses, and his eye rolls back in his head. A chilling silence descends as his legs give out, and he crashes to the floor. His body convulses, limbs flailing uncontrollably. Karen knew it'd happen, but seeing it happen to Plankton is a horror she wasn't emotionally prepared for, but she knew to stay calm. She knew the protocol. Mr. Krabs, still in shock from Plankton's accusations, watches the scene unfold with horror. "What's happening?" he stammers, his claws hovering uselessly. Karen's voice is a beacon of calm amidst the chaos. "It's a seizure," she explains, kneeling beside her husband. "I need you to stay calm." Her voice is steady, her eyes never leaving Plankton's contorting form. Mr. Krabs nods, his eyes widening with fear. He's read about this, seen it once in a medical textbook, but never thought it would happen to someone so close. He watches as Karen carefully moves any objects out of harm's way, cushioning Plankton's head with a pillow. The room seems to spin around them, each second stretching into eternity. The seizure lasts only a few moments, but to Karen, it feels like hours. When it's over, Plankton's body goes still, his breathing shallow. Her hand shakes as she checks his pulse, feeling the thunder of her own heart in her chest. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice trembling. "You're okay." Mr. Krabs is unsure. "It's okay," she murmurs, her hand stroking his antennae. "It's over now." Plankton's breathing deepens, his body slowly relaxing with a twitch. She looks at Mr. Krabs, her expression a mix of relief and exhaustion. "He'll be okay," she assures, her voice a lifeline in the storm of silence. Mr. Krabs nods, still in shock. "What...what do we do?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen sighs, knowing the road ahead won't be easy, but she's determined to navigate it with Plankton. They manage to get Plankton to his feet, his body weak and his mind still groggy from the seizure. His eye darts around the room, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Karen's voice is soft, a gentle guide leading him back to reality. "Let's go to the couch," she says, her arm supporting his weight. Mr. Krabs watches, his claws fidgeting nervously. "Should I... call someone?" he asks, his voice full of uncertainty. Karen shakes her head. "We have to keep it calm," she whispers. "The aftermath can be just as overwhelming." They sit on the couch, Plankton's body leaning heavily into hers. Her arm is around him, her hand stroking his antennae in a rhythm designed to soothe. He looks up at her, his eye still a little wild. "What happened?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "You had a seizure," Karen explains gently, her voice a balm to his frayed nerves. "It's part of your autism, sweetie. It's okay." She can see the fear in his gaze, the unspoken questions. She pulls a blanket over his shoulders, his body shaking from the residual adrenaline. Plankton nods, his antennae twitching as he tries to process the information. He looks down at his trembling hands, wondering how they could have betrayed him so suddenly. Karen hands him a glass of water, her fingers brushing against his in a silent promise of support. He takes a sip, the cool liquid sliding down his throat, helping to clear the fog in his mind. "I'm...sorry," Plankton mumbles, his voice barely a whisper. He looks up at Mr. Krabs, who's still standing awkwardly by the door. "I didn't mean to...to accuse you..." His antennae droop with regret. Mr. Krabs's expression softens, his eyes filling with understanding. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "We all have our moments." He takes a tentative step forward. "What can I do?" Karen glances at him, gratitude warring with the protectiveness she feels for Plankton. "Just give us some space," she says, her tone firm but not unkind. "We need to get him through this." Mr. Krabs nods slowly, his face a mix of sadness and concern. "I understand," he says, his voice thick. He backs out of the room, his eyes never leaving Plankton's huddled form. The door clicks shut, and the room feels smaller, safer. Karen's arm tightens around his shoulders, her warmth a shield against the cold world outside. Plankton leans into her, his body still shaking slightly. He starts to calm down, the tremors fading like ripples in a pond. "I'm...I'm okay," he whispers, his antennae stilling. Karen nods, her eyes searching his face for any sign of distress. "Do you want to take a nap?" she suggests softly. Plankton nods, his eye drooping with exhaustion. They move to the bedroom, the light dimming as they go. Karen helps him into bed, his limbs feeling like jelly. The blankets are a cocoon, his retreat from the world. Her hand brushes his antennae, a silent assurance as she leaves him to the embrace of slumber. He closes his eye, letting the comfort of the darkness envelop him. His body relaxes into the softness of the mattress, his muscles melting away the tension of the day. The bed's embrace is like a gentle whisper, telling his overstimulated mind to rest, to let go. He sighs, his antennae dropping to the pillow like tired leaves in the fall. Meanwhile, Karen goes to Mr. Krabs, who's waiting outside the chum bucket. "I'm sorry for Plankton's outburst," she says, her eyes apologetic. Mr. Krabs waves a dismissive claw. "Don't worry 'bout it," he says. "He's been through a lot today." Karen nods, her expression serious. "It's more than that," she says, her voice low. "He's autistic." Mr. Krabs's eyes widen, his understanding dawning, a newfound respect in his gaze. "I had no idea," he murmurs. "How can I help?" "Just be patient," Karen replies. "And maybe...maybe we can talk later, after he's had some rest." Mr. Krabs nods, his expression thoughtful. "Of course," he says, his voice subdued. "Whatever he needs."

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 1 (Autistic author) "You never listen to me!" Karen exclaimed, her voice echoing through the small lab. Her husband, Plankton, looked up from his invention, a frown furrowing his brow. "What's wrong now?" he asked. "It's the same thing, every single day," Karen said, crossing her arms. "You're always so focused on your work, you forget what's important." Plankton sighed, setting down his wrench. "And what's that?" Karen's eyes flashed with frustration. "Our anniversary dinner, for one," she said. "You promised we'd go out tonight, remember?" Plankton's frown deepened as he tried to recall the conversation. "The dinner...right. I thought it was next week," he mumbled, his gaze darts back to his invention. "No, it's tonight!" Karen's voice was now a mix of annoyance and desperation. "I've had this all planned out for weeks, and you've barely even acknowledged it." Plankton looked at her, his eye suddenly wide with realization. "Tonight? But I've got the final adjustments. It's a breakthrough, Karen!" Karen threw her hands in exasperation. "It's always a breakthrough, isn't it? When are you going to realize that we need to make time for us?" Plankton took a step. "You know how important this is to me, to us," he said, his voice softening. "Once I get this right, we can finally be happy, have the life we deserve when I..." "When you what?" Karen interrupted. "When you finally steal the Krabby Patty formula?" she finished for him, her tone heavy with sarcasm. "Is that what you think will fix everything?" Plankton's shoulders slumped. He knew his obsession with Mr. Krabs' secret formula was a sore spot for Karen, but he couldn't help the hope that burned inside him. "It's not just about that," he said, trying to explain. "It's about proving to everyone, including myself, that I can do something big." He gets up on the shelf. Karen turns away. Karen's frustration boiled over, her face flushing. "You're so caught up in this ridiculous vendetta that you don't even see what you're doing to us!" she yelled, slamming her hand down on the lab table. The sudden noise startled Plankton enough to wobble on his precarious perch, and with a tiny squeak of terror, he lost his balance and toppled over. His invention fell with him, colliding with his head with an ominous clank. Karen turns around, her anger replaced with concern in an instant. "Plankton, are you ok?" He lay still. Karen rushed over. He was unconscious. Karen knelt beside his tiny body. "Plankton," she whispered, shaking him gently. Panic began to set in as he didn't stir. The weight of her actions crashed down on her. She hadn't meant for it to go this far. "Plankton, talk to me," she begged. With trembling fingers, she checked for a pulse. It was faint but there, and she felt a small wave of relief. But he was still out cold. Her mind raced as she tried to think what to do next. Calling for help was out of the question; their rivalry with Mr. Krabs meant they couldn't afford any more attention from the authorities. She knew they gotta wait it out. Gently, she picked him up. He was surprisingly heavy for his size. Carefully, she cradled him in her arms and laid him down on the couch. The room was eerily silent except for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Karen sat beside his unconscious form, her eyes brimming with worry. The fight they'd just had seemed trivial now. "I'm sorry," she murmured, stroking his antennae gently. "You're right, I know how much this means to you. But I just want you to know that no matter what, I'm here for you." Her voice was barely above a whisper as she talked to him, as if fearful that speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile peace that had settled over the room. "You don't have to prove anything to me, or to anyone else. I'm proud of you just the way you are." Karen's eyes searched Plankton's face for any sign of movement, but his features remained slack, his eye closed. She leaned in closer. "You're a brilliant inventor," she continued. "But you're also a husband, and I need you to remember that." Her voice was filled with a mixture of love and desperation. "I know you can't hear me right now, but I need you to know," she continued, her voice shaking slightly. "I know you're tired of always being second best. But to me, you're not just Plankton, you're the man I chose to spend the rest of my life with." Karen took a deep breath, her hands shaking as she held onto his limp form. "We've been through so much together, and I know you think the Krabby Patty is the key to our happiness, but it's not. It's you. It's us." Her voice grew stronger, fueled by the passion of her words. "We can have a great life without that formula. We can build something new, something just for us." Plankton's chest began to rise and fall more evenly, his breathing steady. Karen watched him, hope growing in her heart. Maybe he could hear her after all. "When you wake up, let's talk. Let's put this behind us and make a promise to each other to make our marriage a priority," she pleaded, her eyes never leaving his face. The minutes dragged by, each one heavier than the last. The silence in the lab was a stark contrast to the usual cacophony of whirring machines and Plankton's excited exclamations. Karen's mind raced with thoughts of all the times they'd shared, laughing and planning together, and she couldn't help but reflect on their relationship. The countless nights spent in the lab, the stolen glances of affection, and the shared dream of a better future. It all flashed before her eyes, and she realized just how much Plankton meant to her. With her heart pounding in her chest, she leaned closer to his unconscious form, her voice trembling. "Plankton, please wake up," she whispered. "I need you to hear me. Our love is our greatest invention, not some secret recipe. I know I've been pushing you, but it's because I see how much this obsession consumes you." She took a deep breath, her voice steadying. "But if you can't let go of this dream, I'll support you. I'll always be here, by your side, no matter what." After a long silence, Plankton groaned. Karen gasped, her eyes filling with relief as she saw the spark of consciousness as he opens his eye. He groaned softly, his hand coming up to rub his head. "Where?" he mumbled, his voice slurred with confusion. Karen took his hand, her voice gentle. "You're on the couch, Plankton. You fell."

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 2 (Neurodivergent author) By evening, Karen has set up a makeshift kitchen area in the living room, with all the ingredients for spaghetti arranged neatly on the coffee table. Plankton sits cross-legged on the floor, his eye never leaving the recipe book. He reads each step aloud, his voice growing stronger with confidence. Karen chops vegetables nearby, noticing the subtle changes in his movements, the way he tilts his head when he's concentrating. The smell of garlic and onions sizzling in olive oil fills the room. Plankton stirs the pot, his face scrunching up slightly at the aroma, a sign his sensory sensitivity has heightened. She sees him rub his hands together, a self-stimulatory behavior, but she knows it's his way of grounding himself amidst the chaos. They move around the makeshift kitchen, a silent dance of understanding and support. Karen boils the water for the spaghetti while Plankton continues to sauté the veggies. Each action is deliberate, each step measured as they navigate their new reality. The water reaches a rolling boil, and Plankton carefully drops in the spaghetti strands, his gaze transfixed by the swirling water. Karen watches his concentration and sees the childlike wonder in his eye. "How long?" he asks. "Five minutes," Karen says, her voice calm. She's read that clear and concise instructions can be helpful. After five minutes, Plankton quickly drains the spaghetti, his movements precise and methodical. He pours the sauce over the noodles and mixes them gently, his focus intense. Karen watches him, a mix of admiration and concern. "It's done," he announces, his voice a mix of excitement and apprehension. She brings over two plates, setting them on the coffee table. They sit across from each other, the steaming spaghetti a bridge between them. Plankton's hand hovers over his plate, unsure of how to proceed with the new sensory experience. "Let's eat," Karen says with a smile, picking up her fork and twirling the noodles expertly. The sound of her silverware against the plate makes him flinch, but he mimics her movements. They eat in silence, the clinking of forks and spoons the only sounds in the room. Plankton chews slowly, savoring each bite, his face a canvas of emotions. Karen watches him, her own fork poised in midair. As they finish dinner, Plankton sets his plate aside and looks at her, his expression earnest. "Thank you, Karen," he says, his voice clear. "For being here Karen." Her eyes brim with tears, but she blinks them back. "Always, Plankton. I'll always be here. Now it's getting late; let's go to bed.." In bed, she reads to him, his favorite childhood story, the words acting as a lullaby. Plankton's hand rests on her arm, his thumb rubbing circles in a self-soothing gesture. His breathing steadies, matching the rhythm of her voice. The book's final page is turned, and she switches off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The silence is filled with the comforting hum of the fan above. Karen lies beside Plankton, his body rigid with tension. Her arm wraps around him, pulling him closer, and she feels his muscles slowly relax. "Goodnight, Plankton," she whispers, kissing his forehead. He doesn't respond, lost in his thoughts. But she knows he heard her. Karen notices the tension in his body and gently runs her fingers through his antennae, a silent offer of comfort. Eventually, his breathing evens out, and he falls asleep, his body curled into hers like a child seeking shelter. The next morning, the sun streams through the blinds, casting stripes across the bed. Karen, already awake, watches him, her hand still entwined with his. He's still asleep, his body relaxed, the lines of worry from the day before smoothed out by the embrace of slumber. Carefully, she slides out of bed, not wanting to disturb him. She sees him stir in his sleep, his antennae twitching slightly, but he remains unaware of her departure. In the kitchen, Karen starts the coffee, the scent filling the room with a comforting aroma. She opens the fridge, finding the ingredients for the morning routine. Plankton's usual breakfast is a simple one: toast with jam and a banana. The toaster pops, and she spreads the jam with a gentle smoothness that Plankton likes. The banana peels easily, revealing the perfect yellow fruit inside. Her mind races with thoughts of how she'll need to learn his new sensitivities, his likes and dislikes, his triggers. But for now, she focuses on the task at hand, placing the slices of bread in the toaster. When the toast is just right, she carries the breakfast tray to the bedroom, her steps soft against the cold floor. Plankton's still asleep, his snores punctuating the quiet morning. Karen sets the tray on the bedside table. She watches him, unsure how to wake him without causing distress. She's read about sensory sensitivity and knows that sudden noise can be jarring for someone with Autism. She gently strokes his antennae, her touch featherlight, and whispers his name, "Plankton, wake up." He stirs, his antennae twitching, but his eye remains closed. Karen tries again, a little louder this time, "Wake up, sweetie. Breakfast is ready." Plankton's hand shoots up to cover his eye, a reflexive reaction to the light. His body tenses, then relaxes as his mind adjusts to the new day. He sits up slowly. "Thank you, Karen," he mumbles, his voice still thick with sleep. He takes in the breakfast spread before him, his antennae twitching with anticipation. He picks up the toast, feeling the warmth in his hands, the stickiness of the jam a familiar comfort. Karen watches him closely, noticing the way his eye widens slightly at the first bite, the way his tongue flicks out to taste the banana. It's as if every sensation is amplified, a symphony of flavors and textures that she can't begin to understand. She sips her coffee, silent, giving him space. As he eats, Plankton starts to hum again, his body rocking slightly. It's a low, comforting sound that fills the room. Karen feels the tension in her shoulders ease. This is their new normal, a dance of care and understanding.

please dont put gross stuff here ! keep it to yourself or post it elsewhere, their is kids around 9 and a few years up here just trying to find cute symbols !! this is a safe space ^^ spread the word please :3

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👢𝓣𝓪𝔂𝓵𝓸𝓻 𝓼𝔀𝓲𝓯𝓽🦋 🐴𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒👸 💜𝒮𝓅ℯ𝒶𝓀 𝒩ℴ𝓌🤩 💋𝘙𝘌𝘋💄 🪩𝟙𝟡𝟠𝟡🗽 😈ℜ𝔢𝔭𝔲𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫🐍 💕𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻☀️ 🎹𝒇𝒐𝒍𝒌𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒆🧚 🍂𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎🥂 ✨𝕄𝕚𝕕𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤 🌘 🅣🅐🅨 🅣🅐🅨 【1】【3】　

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⠀⣴⠛⠛⣦⠀ ⠀⣿⠶⠶⣦⠀ ⠀⠻⣤⣤⠟⠀

𝟏𝟐𝟑𝟒𝟓𝟔𝟕𝟖𝟗 ①②③④⑤⑥⑦⑧⑨ １２３４５６７８９ 𝟙𝟚𝟛𝟜𝟝𝟞𝟟𝟠𝟡 ➊➋➌➍➎➏➐➑➒ ¹²³⁴⁵⁶⁷⁸⁹ ₁₂₃₄₅₆₇₈₉ 1̶2̶3̶4̶5̶6̶7̶8̶9̶ 1̲2̲3̲4̲5̲6̲7̲8̲9̲ 1̳2̳3̳4̳5̳6̳7̳8̳9̳ 【1】【2】【3】【4】【5】【6】【7】【8】【9】 『1』『2』『3』『4』『5』『6』『7』『8』『9』

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢔⠾⢋⠷⢃⠠⠒⠈⠀⢀⣀⢂⢠⣲⢦⡪⠝⠀⢠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⢪⡃⠜⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⡀⠖⠁⠀⢀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠦⡻⠂⠀⠀⠀⢼⡆⠀⠀⠁⡔⡀⡸⠀⢠⠃⠀⢸⣐⣷⣏⠉⠁⠉⢻⡄⠀⠀⡱⠑⢆⣨⠟⠊⠉⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢔⠕⢁⠔⠁⠐⣁⣤⠴⠚⠉⢀⣠⠖⡫⠃⠁⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⡠⠀⢠⠞⡵⠃⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⢀⠔⠈⠀⠀⠀⠔⡰⢃⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠼⡫⣠⠎⠀⠀⢀⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⢁⠃⢀⠇⠀⠀⣼⠋⣟⡆⠇⢀⠀⠸⢎⢵⠀⠱⠱⡈⢧⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡡⠁⢠⣁⣀⡴⡚⠅⠐⠈⢀⡴⠋⠐⠁⢀⡠⡤⠄⣰⠃⠀⠀⣰⠁⠀⣠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣤⠤⠶⠚⠋⠉⢀⡠⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣮⠞⣐⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠁⣀⣠⠔⠁⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⢦⠂⢠⠊⠀⠀⠚⠙⢰⢸⣷⢰⠈⢆⠀⠙⣮⢣⠀⠐⡔⡒⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠟⣠⠖⠋⢁⠚⠃⣀⠔⠚⡷⠉⣉⡤⡲⢭⠞⢉⠃⣰⠏⠀⠀⡴⣉⡀⡚⠁⠑⠒⠀⡛⠛⢉⢁⠄⠀⣠⠗⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⢀⠤⢠⢾⠋⢡⠞⠁⠀⡠⠒⠀⢀⣎⣠⢞⢵⠟⠁⠀⢀⠔⠠⠃⠀⡔⡐⠀⡇⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⡃⠈⠀⣿⠈⡀⡇⠣⡀⠈⢧⠡⡀⠈⢊⢜⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡠⢤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢶⠃⠀⢀⠃⢠⡞⠁⢀⡼⡷⢋⣥⣮⠴⠁⡠⣵⢻⡟⠀⢀⡼⢋⢊⠌⠀⡠⠊⢀⠊⢀⣀⣆⠃⠀⣰⠃⢀⡴⠋⠀⢀⠔⠕⡡⠞⣠⠝⠁⠀⣠⠊⢀⣤⠖⣡⠞⣕⡡⠁⠀⣠⡞⡡⣶⡵⠀⣸⢣⠇⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⢠⠁⡆⠀⡷⠀⡇⣏⡄⢻⠄⠀⠱⡷⣄⠀⠡⡹⡇⠀⢀⡀⠄⠒⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠀⠀⡎⢠⠋⠀⣠⡮⠔⠈⣩⠞⠁⢀⢊⡾⢡⡄⠁⢠⡾⠡⠡⢂⠠⠊⢀⠔⣀⡴⢋⡏⠎⠀⣸⠃⣰⠟⠁⠀⡐⠁⡡⡊⠔⠈⡁⢐⣔⡟⢡⠞⡑⣡⠎⣡⠞⠝⠀⢀⣮⢟⠊⡸⠹⠁⢰⠃⣼⠀⣿⠂⢰⠀⢰⠃⠀⡌⢰⡗⢰⡧⠀⢫⡷⠇⠀⣎⢆⠀⡇⠏⢳⡤⠜⠓⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⣿⣖⡾⠋⠀⡠⠊⠁⢠⣖⣵⡭⡂⠁⠘⠄⢳⠁⡶⠓⣡⣰⣖⡥⠞⠁⣀⢼⢱⠀⣰⢃⡼⠃⠀⢠⡪⣪⠞⠋⡀⢔⣠⠦⠛⠉⣠⡳⢊⡴⢣⠞⢁⠊⠀⣠⡿⠛⢁⠎⢠⡳⢡⠏⢸⠟⢠⢟⠀⢸⠀⢸⠁⠀⢁⡿⠁⢠⠇⠀⠘⡇⠘⠀⡆⣾⠠⠓⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠝⠛⠀⡠⢊⣠⠾⠗⡾⠁⢳⠀⣽⡄⠀⢘⠾⣊⠴⢋⡵⢫⣷⣃⢀⠔⠁⣿⠆⠀⠀⡞⢁⠀⠴⠛⠘⣀⣔⡬⢖⠋⠁⢀⠔⣶⡟⠡⢈⡕⠛⠠⠂⠀⣰⠋⠀⡰⠁⢀⣧⢡⡎⢀⠟⠀⣸⢹⠀⢸⠀⡸⠀⠀⣾⠁⠀⡌⠀⣀⡸⠙⣄⠶⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⣰⣪⠖⠋⠀⢀⠜⢀⢌⠜⡆⣿⠼⣺⢗⣟⣡⡎⢡⠃⣤⠹⠘⠢⡤⢄⣛⡐⠠⠼⠍⠐⠀⣀⡤⡞⠉⠁⣤⠋⢀⠔⠁⣼⠏⠐⢠⠎⠐⠰⠃⠀⡼⠁⠀⡜⠀⡰⣻⢃⡞⠀⣸⠃⢀⡟⢰⠀⢸⠀⣷⠀⣸⠁⠀⡘⠀⣼⡿⠁⢠⢏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢎⣸⠃⠀⠀⡠⢃⣴⠟⣡⣴⣿⣷⠛⠛⡈⡇⢠⠗⢸⣾⠸⡇⠀⠀⠈⠑⡾⣫⢒⣴⣶⢟⠵⢡⠌⠀⠀⠔⠃⡠⠁⠀⣾⢋⠌⡰⠁⠀⠠⢁⡄⠐⠀⠀⢞⡒⡰⢠⡏⡾⢠⢧⡏⠀⢺⠯⢥⠀⢸⠀⡽⢠⠃⠀⡰⠇⣸⠗⠃⢠⢳⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠷⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣨⣢⢔⣡⠖⢫⠽⠑⡟⠉⢸⢯⢏⠉⣵⡇⣸⠀⢘⢨⠃⡁⠓⠒⢢⢞⢜⣥⣫⣿⡧⠃⠀⡌⠀⠀⠈⠀⠊⠀⠀⣼⠃⠊⡐⠀⠀⢠⠣⡞⢠⡆⠀⡎⠀⠀⠁⣼⡝⢠⠟⡸⠀⠀⢸⢐⣸⠂⢸⠀⡇⢂⠄⡠⣧⣷⠏⠀⢠⡇⡈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡆⠀⢰⡆⠀⢠⣾⣷⠀⢀⣾⠀⠀⣾⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡆ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠚⠿⠚⠋⠁⠌⠁⡠⠊⡐⣡⢟⡌⡈⢒⡏⢰⢸⢰⢸⢺⡄⠀⢀⡴⣷⢿⠏⢈⣿⠟⠷⢆⡤⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣏⠌⡔⠀⠀⠀⣆⠾⢁⡞⡇⡜⠀⠀⠀⣀⣯⡴⣥⢷⠓⠒⠋⠉⠡⢸⠀⢸⠀⠇⠎⣠⠱⢸⠇⠀⢠⠃⢠⢁⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣷⢀⡿⢁⣴⠟⣹⣿⠀⣾⣷⣶⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⠋⣀⣪⠞⡑⢁⢧⠙⠀⢇⢸⣿⢺⡞⡚⡯⢴⡙⠉⢀⡐⠂⡘⡞⠀⠅⠠⠉⠁⠚⠣⠝⣔⠶⣀⠀⠁⡰⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⣄⡜⠀⡷⢓⣢⠿⠍⠛⠋⠠⡡⠂⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⢀⡇⢨⠀⣶⡜⢸⠀⡟⠀⠀⢆⣠⠃⡈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠉⣿⣿⢃⣾⠿⠟⢻⣟⣸⡟⠁⢠⡿⠁⢀⣴⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠴⠞⠧⠜⠋⢁⠂⠌⡰⢃⣾⣦⠀⢸⡀⣿⣄⢁⠇⠀⠀⢯⣝⣖⣿⣯⣿⣒⡭⠥⣐⡒⠤⢀⠀⠀⠈⠉⡛⢆⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠋⢀⣀⠻⠉⠁⠀⠀⢀⡠⠔⣒⣀⣭⣝⣛⣫⣿⣿⣧⠘⠀⣳⠀⣼⢠⠃⠀⠀⠸⣹⢀⠃⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠃⠀⠘⠃⠘⠃⠀⠀⠙⠋⠛⠀⠀⠙⠃⢠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃ 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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣯⣳⠀⠹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠦⠄⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⠠⠴⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⡜⠁⠀⡰⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢋⠖⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢌⡆⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⡙⢿⣿⣛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⣛⣩⢿⡋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⢀⣴⠿⣿⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠗⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⠳⣵⠀⠀⠀⠹⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠦⣤⣤⣭⣭⣭⣭⣭⢩⡭⠖⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⣲⠯⢸⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⢌⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠩⡿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢐⡺⢁⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⣧⠀⢈⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣝⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⠁⠀⢸⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠑⢌⢲⣀⠀⠀⠀⠳⣅⡫⠳⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡽⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⢳⣍⠣⡀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡟⠆⠈⠹⠶⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⣀⢀⣀⣀⣠⣴⠿⣛⢝⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠈⢯⡫⡳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣯⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠙⠙⠋⠛⠙⢫⣍⡳⢎⠋⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠖⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠈⡟⣬⡑⠄⠀⠀⠀⠱⡷⣂⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣜⣪⡍⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠏⠁⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⠸⡦⡋⡦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢎⠙⠕⣓⠂⠤⢀⢠⠄⠀⠀⠜⠳⠋⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⢋⡥⠴⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣌⡢⡹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡖⠔⣒⡠⠄⡭⠃⠀⠀⠐⡺⠁⠀⠀⢀⡴⢿⡙⠃⣐⠒⠉⠁⢀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣀⣠⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣧⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠅⡒⠄⢹⡁⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⡋⢠⠑⢀⣃⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⡿⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠿⣦⣤⡀⠀⠙⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠁⠘⠿⠿⢡⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡏⠀⠀⣀⢿⣿⠏⣻⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⢷⣄⠈⠙⠿⢧⣾⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀⠈⠳⢦⣤⡟⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⡤⣤⢶⣾⠙⣧⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣻⡟⢳⣦⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡏⡇⠀⠀⠈⠁⡟⢧⠘⣟⠿⢤⡤⠤⣾⠏⣠⣿⡁⡽⡝⡿⡟⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣧⡇⠀⠀⠀⢠⡇⠈⢧⡘⢯⡓⢒⡶⢋⡴⠋⣻⣆⡇⢹⡀⣇⣾⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠃⣿⢹⡃⠆⠀⢠⠟⠀⠀⠀⠙⣆⠙⠋⡤⢞⣀⡀⢃⣻⡿⠀⢷⣿⣿⣇⢹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⡼⠀⠀⣻⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⡖⠀⢀⠀⢹⡏⠈⠀⠊⠉⠁⠈⠛⠒⠂⠈⣿⣿⡿⠀⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢰⠃⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠋⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⡿⢹⡇⠀⠘⣇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⡿⢙⡆⠁⡀⢿⠀⠀⢺⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢹⣿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⣿⡾⢰⠀⠀⠸⡆⠀⠀ ⠀⣼⡏⢸⠡⠀⡇⢸⠀⠀⠘⠛⠂⠀⠀⠶⠀⢸⢸⡉⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⣼⣴⣾⣷⣿⡄⠀ ⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⢸⡄⠀⠀⣀⣤⠄⠀⠀⠀⣸⠋⡇⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⡟⠛⢿⣿⣟⣷⡀ ⠈⠉⠙⣿⣷⣲⣦⣼⡇⠀⢸⠁⢈⡁⠀⠀⣠⠗⠉⡇⠠⡧⠝⢂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡅⠃⠞⢸⣿⣦⣩⡧

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣴⣴⣾⡗⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⢠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⢀⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠉⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⢀⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⠟⠻⢂⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⠏⠁⠀⠐⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢀⡀ ⠀⢀⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢸⣿ ⣴⣿⣋⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⣀⣠⢼⣿ ⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠛⠛⠚⠋ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢠⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⢿⢿⡷⣾⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡦⡀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⠤⠶⠶⣖⡛⠛⠿⠿⠯⠭⠍⠉⣉⠛⠚⠛⠲⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠁⠀⡉⠁⢐⣒⠒⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⢂⢅⡂⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣄⡈⠈⠀⠀⠀⠘⣇⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⡾⠡⠄⠀⠀⠾⠿⠿⣷⣦⣤⠀⠀⣾⣋⡤⠿⠿⠿⠿⠆⠠⢀⣀⡒⠼⢷⣄⠀ ⣿⠊⠊⠶⠶⢦⣄⡄⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠙⠳⠦⠶⠞⢋⣍⠉⢳⡄⠈⣧ ⢹⣆⡂⢀⣿⠀⠀⡀⢴⣟⠁⠀⢀⣠⣘⢳⡖⠀⠀⣀⣠⡴⠞⠋⣽⠷⢠⠇⠀⣼ ⠀⢻⡀⢸⣿⣷⢦⣄⣀⣈⣳⣆⣀⣀⣤⣭⣴⠚⠛⠉⣹⣧⡴⣾⠋⠀⠀⣘⡼⠃ ⠀⢸⡇⢸⣷⣿⣤⣏⣉⣙⣏⣉⣹⣁⣀⣠⣼⣶⡾⠟⢻⣇⡼⠁⠀⠀⣰⠋⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⡇⠸⣿⡿⣿⢿⡿⢿⣿⠿⠿⣿⠛⠉⠉⢧⠀⣠⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⣠⠇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⠀⠀⠹⢯⣽⣆⣷⣀⣻⣀⣀⣿⣄⣤⣴⠾⢛⡉⢄⡢⢔⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠢⣀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⣉⣀⠠⣐⠦⠑⣊⡥⠞⠋⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⡀⠀⠁⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⠈⠁⣀⡤⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠙⠶⢤⣤⣤⣤⣤⡤⠴ ⠀

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆

EMINƎM༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚²⁰¹¹⁰¹²³⁴⁵⁶⁷⁸⁹³³³𝖗𝖊𝖕𝖚𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓Números

🫧🫧🧡🧡🧡🫧🫧🫧🧡🧡🧡🫧🫧 🫧🧡7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣🧡🫧🧡7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣🧡🫧 🫧🧡7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣🧡7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣🧡🫧 🫧🧡7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣🧡🫧 🫧🧡7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣🧡🫧 🫧🫧🧡7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣🧡🫧🫧 🫧🫧🫧🧡7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣🧡🫧🫧🫧 🫧🫧🫧🫧🧡7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣🧡🫧🫧🫧🫧 🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🧡7️⃣🧡🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧 🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🧡🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧

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ɛ:

𝟏𝟑 ❤︎︎

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fun fact! most school computers have this site unblocked. typing this at historyyy!!!

"STOP DOING THIS STUFF! I AM TEN AND I WAS LOOKING FOR CUTE EMOJIS THAN I SAW THIS, WHAT IS THIS PLEASE STOP I AM TRAMATIZED 😭" then don't search fir shut you fucking dumbass <3( ^ω^ )*𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘴*

✞ v˖ ࣪ ˒ᥫ᭡^᪲᪲᪲.ᐟ๋࣭ ⭑⚝Ʀ

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🖤😭🖤𝒮(𝒽ℯ) 𝒷ℯ(𝓁𝒾)ℯ𝓋(ℯ𝒹)🖤😭🖤😭

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⣿⣿⠿⠛⣉⣉⣉⣉⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⡿⢁⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣌⡙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠁⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡉⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⡄⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠛⢉⠋⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣷⣄⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⡙⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢉⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡈⠻⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣷⣄⡙⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡈⠻⡿⢁⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⢹⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣉⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢸⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢛⣉⣀⠀⠙⣨⣤⣭⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⠀⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢻⢸⣿⡟⢸⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣿⣿⣿⣧⣸⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠸⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢀⣿⣿⣯⡇⢸⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠛⢿⡏⣡⣶⡌⢻⣟⠁⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⡉⠛⠿⠿⠿⠛⢋⣠⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣾⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⢰⣿⣷⣬⢉⣵⣿⣿⣧⢈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠇⣸⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠘⠿⠿⠟⢁⡙⠛⠛⢋⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠀⢿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢀⣿⣷⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⢿⡿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⢻⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⣿⣿⣿⣿⢋⣭⣭⠡⠾⢟⣂⣒⡻⠷⠌⠵⢶⣍⠻⣛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠈⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⢋⣴⡦⢊⣥⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣬⣌⡛⠿⠌⣛⡛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡅⢸ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⢑⡸⢁⣾⡟⠉⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣝⠻⡆⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢸ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⢾⠃⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠿⣿⣷⣌⠻⡆⣙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠠ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⢠⡀⣿⣿⣷⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⣛⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣦⣱⣌⢻⣿⣿⣿⡇⡏⢰ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⠣⠹⢛⣙⣛⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣭⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⡇⠛⣸⣽⣿⡟⡻⢁⣾ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣴⣿⣿⣯⠁⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣼⢼⣾⣟⠟⢁⣾⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠙⠛⠟⣙⡻⣦⣿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⡀⢡⠞⠛⣁⣴⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡈⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⣶⣿⠆⠿⠦⠀⣰⣾⢂⣉⣛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⢁⣺⣥⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣌⠛⠿⣿⣷⣤⠀⣀⠳⢢⣢⢲⠧⠘⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠋⠉⠉⡀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⠌⢉⡄⣈⠑⠛⠛⠂⠚⠓⠒⠀⠀⡀⢩⣴⣶⣶⡌⢢⡘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣴⣿⠟⡅⠚⠘⠂⡽⢻⣿⣬⣿⣷⡄⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠒⠘⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠴⣋⡅⣚⣥⣾⣿⣧⣙⠂⢭⡛⠻⠿⠃⡌⠛⢿⣿⣃⣼⠟⠈⢨⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣐⣣⣶⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⠘⣶⣦⣍⠁⠐⠐⠰⠌⠉⠋⠁⠄⠶⠂⠊⢙⢻⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣸⣿⣿⣇⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⣿⣿⣿⠀⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⡶⠂⢉⣾⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣠⡙⠛⠻⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⡇⢿⣦⣭⣝⡋⠶⢙⣫⣥⣴⡇⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣙⣂⠶⠦⠠⣤⠤⣄⡀⣡⣀⢠⣀⠄⣤⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⢱⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠐⠶⠶⠄⠀⠼⣦⡲⠔⠾⣶⣶⣶⠶⠖⠀⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠛⠶⠶⠀⢿⣶⣤⣤⣘⣣⣤⣤⣤⣶⡞⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⣁⣉⣉⣉⣉⣡⣌⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠜⠀⣀⣠⡴⠖⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⠻⡆⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⠴⠞⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠞⠋⠉⣠⡆⠰⡇⠸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⡈⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡇⢀⣷⣀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⡉⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠴⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠷⠀⠀⠈⣿⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⢻⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀ ⢠⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠃⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀ ⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣇⠀⠀⠘⣿⡄ ⢸⣧⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡟⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇ ⠈⣿⡄⠀⢀⣿⠇⠀⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⠋⣿⣿⣦⣀⣀⣠⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⢿⡇ ⠀⢻⣿⣶⣾⡿⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣶⣶⣿⣿⠋⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇ ⠀⠀⠙⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀

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( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)

@@sFERN

e††|ℹ§ƒʟi️̤̮🇪ᡣ𐭩ᯓ★ᯓᡣ𐭩<𝟑ֶָ֢€∞જ⁀➴⋆₊ ⊹୧℮ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིNྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟ⁷⁷⁷ㅤ󠁑󠁉󠁍🌱😁🌐🕸┃☠️☎️☎☏@▶️↪⌂⌨️⌗▶9443872

e☀️❌❤️➡️☕✅✨👤•🎯⏳💬✈️2️⃣3️⃣4️⃣🔥💥🔗🎮☆⚙️⌖♡★▶ⓕ💻🌏🍃✝🌎💯➜🌍🅾🆗♾🤗☑5️⃣⏱️⛔👀💡📌🔫✔️ 🌱🛕❄️⚠️⚔️🎁✝️✍🌐🗣️✔️┃☎️☎☏@╰┈➤

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🤠𝓣𝓪𝔂𝓵𝓸𝓻 𝓼𝔀𝓲𝓯𝓽🦋 🐴𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒👸 💜𝒮𝓅ℯ𝒶𝓀 𝒩ℴ𝓌🤩 ❤𝘙𝘌𝘋💄 🪩𝟙𝟡𝟠𝟡🗽 🖤ℜ𝔢𝔭𝔲𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫🐍 💕𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻☀️ 🎹𝒇𝒐𝒍𝒌𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒆🧚 🍂𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎🥂 ✨𝕄𝕚𝕕𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤 🌘 📜ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏʀᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴘᴏᴇᴛs ᴅᴇᴘᴀʀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ🪶 🅣🅐🅨 🅣🅐🅨 ❶❸

i love you😡🫶🏻

⠤⢠⡟⠁⢻⡄⠀⠀⠐⠠⠀⠀⠀⠄⠂⠠⠀⠀⠄⢠⣤⣤⣦⠼⢞⠇⠠⠈⣻⡶ ⠛⠋⠁⠁⠀⠙⠚⠛⣲⠶⠀⠀⠄⢄⠉⣶⠁⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⣄⠀⠀⠅⠀⠁⢈⠠ ⣆⠀⠀⡀⠠⠀⢠⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⢙⣧⠀⠨⢁⠨⢀⠸ ⣽⠀⠸⣿⡿⠀⢸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⢸⡇⠀⣀⣒⢦⣆⠡ ⣯⡶⠟⠉⠑⠢⢤⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠷⠛⠁⠀⠑⠩⢛ ⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠠⢂ ⠀⠀⠔⢖⠁⢀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡊⠲⠀⠈⠄ ⠀⠇⠀⠀⠆⠾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠁⠈⠀⠀⡀ ⢈⠐⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⢄ ⠀⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠘⢀ ⠐⡒⣜⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⢀⡞⢻⣆⠊⠠ ⣉⣽⠋⠀⠽⣄⣀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⡾⠁⢾⣿⣿⣧ ⠉⠀⢀⠀⠈⡀⠉⣈⠿⠁⠀⠀⠐⢆⠁⢀⠆⠀⠀⠘⢿⣉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠋⢠ ⣶⠀⠠⠀⠀⢐⣾⠉⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠈⠂⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢶⡄⠀⠀⠀⢀⠂⣾ ⡗⢨⣥⣦⣌⡈⣹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠡⠀⠀⠀⢀⠈⠁⠀⠈⠀⠀⣸⠃⠀⣀⣤⡀⠄⣻

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

SWEET CWEAM pt. 1 Karen stood outside the dental clinic. Plankton had been in surgery for what felt like an eternity. The door swung open, and a nurse with a kind smile beckoned her inside. "You can go in now," she said softly. Karen followed the nurse down the hallway. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what lay ahead. In the recovery room, Plankton was still unconscious, his face a mask of peace. A line of drool had escaped the corner of his mouth. Karen felt a twinge of guilt for not being there to hold his hand during the surgery. The nurse checked his vital signs and nodded to Karen. "You can sit with him now." Karen pulled a chair next to the hospital bed. Her hand found his, and she squeezed gently. Plankton's eye flickered open. He tried to focus, but his eye wouldn't cooperate. "Karen?" he murmured, his voice thick with anesthesia. Her hand tightened around his, and her screen swam into view. "I'm here, sweetie," she whispered, her screen glistening with relief. Plankton blinked several times, his mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. The pain was a distant echo, muted by the drugs still coursing through his veins. He managed a nod, his eyelid growing heavy again. Karen offered a small, reassuring smile. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice wrapped in a gentle lilt. Plankton's mouth felt like it had been invaded by an alien species, a strange numbness spreading through his jaw. He tried to form words, but all that came out was a muffled grunt. The nurse chuckled, a sound that was both soothing and slightly irritating. "It's normal," she said, patting his arm. "The anesthesia can make it difficult to talk." He tried to sit up, but his body wouldn't respond. It was as if he was trapped in a thick fog, unable to move. The nurse noticed his struggle and moved quickly to his side. "Easy now, Mr. Plankton," she said, placing a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder. "You're still under the influence of the anesthesia. Take your time." Plankton nodded, his head lolling back onto the pillow. His eye darted around the room, trying to make sense of his surroundings. His mind felt like it was floating in a bubble. "Wha... happened?" he slurred, his tongue thick and unwieldy. The nurse chuckled kindly. "You had your wisdom teeth removed, Mr. Plankton. You're going to be feeling a bit loopy for a while." The words swirled in his head, and slowly, the fog began to lift. Wisdom teeth? Removed? Plankton's hand shakily went to his face, gently prodding the puffy skin around his mouth. A childlike bewilderment washed over him. "Teesh?" he murmured, his voice smaller than he remembered. Karen nodded, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Wisdom teeth," she repeated, her voice a soft caress in the sterile air. "You'll be okay, Plankton." He squinted, trying to understand, and finally managed to mumble, "Wheh?" Karen leaned closer, her face a soft blur above him. "Wisdom teeth," she said, enunciating each syllable as if speaking to a toddler. "They took out your wisdom teeth." The words sank into Plankton's consciousness like a stone in a murky pond. Teeth? Wisdom? The nurse had said something about it, but it still didn't make much sense. He felt like he had forgotten how to piece together coherent thoughts. He looked at his wife with wide, confused eye, like a small child lost in a crowded supermarket. Karen, sensing his desperation, spoke slowly and clearly, as if recounting a bedtime story. "You went to the dentist," she began, her voice soothing. "They had to take out four of your teeth." Plankton's single functioning eye went even wider. "Foe?" he whispered, the shock reverberating through his fuzzy brain. "Don't worry," Karen soothed, stroking his forehead. "You were asleep. You didn't feel a thing."

GO HONE 2/2 The nurse returned, seeing his renewed energy. "Looks like you're feeling better," she said with a smile. "But let's not rush things." Plankton nodded eagerly, his antennas bobbing. "Yeth, yeth, I'm weady!" He tried to sit up again, his body still wobbly. The nurse helped him, adjusting his pillows. "Let's see if you can stay awake for a few more minutes," she said. He looked at her with determined innocence, like a child promising not to eat cookies before dinner. "I'm weally weally weady," he insisted, his words still thick. Karen couldn't help but chuckle, watching him fight the sleepiness. "Good," the nurse said. "Keep talking to your wife, that'll help keep you alert." Plankton's eye lit up with a childlike excitement. "Ish fun to tawk to you, Karen," he said, his words still slurred. "Youw make me happy." Karen felt her heart swell. "And you make me happy," she said, her voice sincere despite his loopy state. "Even when you're being a goofball." Plankton's smile grew, his eye still half-lidded. "Goof...ball?" he repeated, the words sounding strange in his mouth. He giggled again, his body swaying slightly with the effort of staying upright. "Ish fun to be a goofball." Karen couldn't resist smiling back, his silliness was infectious. "Yes, it is," she said. "But you need to stay awake for a little longer." Plankton nodded, his head bobbing slightly. "Otay, Karen," he said, his voice still thick. He then saw the nurse. "Who's dat?" he whispered, his eye wide with curiosity. Karen chuckled softly. "That's the nurse, Plankton. Remember?" He blinked a few times, his antennas perking up as his eyes focused on the kind-faced woman. "Oh, yeah. Tha nurse lady," he slurred, his voice full of sudden realization. "Hi!" The nurse chuckled. "Hello, Mr. Plankton. You're doing great." Plankton's smile grew even wider, his cheeks flushing with pleasure. "Ish nice to meechu," he said, sleepily. "I wike youw hat.." The nurse couldn't help but laugh. "Thank you, Mr. Plankton. It's nice to meet you too." Plankton's eye began to droop again, and Karen could see the sleep trying to pull him under. "Wakey wakey, Plankton," she said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "You have to stay with me." He nodded, his head lolling to the side before snapping back up with a jerk. "Ish okay, Karen," he whispered, his voice still slurred. "Ish okay." But his eyelid grew heavy, and his words trailed off. "Ish just...tho tiwed," he mumbled. Karen's chuckle was gentle, not wanting to disturb his attempts to stay alert. "I know, sweetie," she said, stroking his hand. "Just a few more minutes." But Plankton's eyelid was like a heavy curtain, despite his best efforts. "Whe...whe...why am I so tiwed?" he slurred, his head lolling to the side like a ragdoll's. Karen knew he wasn't going to last much longer. His hand slipped out of hers, and he began to snore softly again. Karen looked over at the nurse, who nodded in understanding. "It's normal," the nurse said. "The anesthesia can make people pretty loopy for a while." Plankton's snores grew softer, his body relaxing. Karen watched him, her expression a mix of amusement and concern. "How much longer?" she asked the nurse. "Just a little longer," the nurse said, checking his vitals again. "The effects should start to wear off soon." Plankton's snores grew softer, and then he was awake again, looking around the room with wide- eyed wonder, drool trailing from the corner of his mouth. "Whe...where...?" His voice was a sleepy whisper. "You're still in the recovery room," Karen soothed, wiping his chin with a tissue. "You fell asleep again." Plankton looked up at her, his eye wide and innocent. "Did I miss sumfing?" he asked, his voice still thick with slumber. "No, sweetie," Karen replied, her voice soothing. "You just fell asleep for a bit. You're still waking up." Plankton's antennas perked up, and he sat up. "But...but I hav ice cweam?" His eye were wide with hopeful inquiry. Karen nodded with a smile, wiping the remaining drool from his mouth. "Yes, when we get home, remember?" Plankton's grin was infectious. "Yay!" he cheered, clapping his hands together with a slightly awkward smack. Karen couldn't help but chuckle at his reaction, his childlike enthusiasm was adorable. "Looks like you're feeling better," she said, her voice filled with affection. But Plankton was already off on another tangent, his gaze wandering to the ceiling. "Whewe awe the fishies?" he asked, his voice a sleepy whisper. Karen followed his gaze, seeing the plain, white ceiling tiles. "The fishies are in your imagination, Plankton," she said, her tone gentle. He pouted, his disappointment palpable. "Oh," he murmured, his head lolling to the side. Karen chuckled, her hand still on his arm. "They'll be there when you're all better," she assured him. "But for now, let's just stay here." The nurse smiled. "Looks like our patient is feeling better," she said with a smile. "Almost ready to go home?" Plankton nodded vigorously, his antennas flopping with the motion. "Hone, yesh! Ice cweam!" His eye closed again, and he snored lightly. Karen chuckled. His excitement was adorable, even if it was short-lived. The nurse checked his vital signs. "Looks like the anesthesia's wearing off," she said with a smile. "We can get you ready to go home soon." Plankton's eyelid fluttered open. "Hone?" he asked, his voice hopeful. "Almost," Karen said, her voice calm and soothing. "Just a few more minutes." Plankton's eye closed again, his breaths deepening into sleep. His head lolled to the side, his antennas drooping. Karen watched him with love. Even in his most vulnerable state, his antics brought a warmth to the room. The nurse returned and began to prepare the discharge papers. "Almost there," she said with a wink at Karen. "He'll be right as rain in no time." Plankton stirred again, his eye half-opening to a squint. "Whe...where's my ice cweam?" he mumbled, his voice slurred with sleep. Karen chuckled. "Not until we get home, remember?" Plankton's head nodded, his antennas bobbing. "Oh yeah," he mumbled, his voice dreamily content. The nurse finished up the paperwork and turned to Karen. "We're all set. Just make sure he gets plenty of rest and eats soft foods for the next few days." Plankton's eye shot open, his antennas springing to attention. "Ice cweam?" he asked, his voice hopeful. Karen laughed, shaking her head. "When we get home, remember?" He pouted, his lower lip sticking out like a sulky child's. "But I'm so tiwed," he whined. "Tiwed of being tiwed." Karen couldn't help but smile at his usual stubbornness. "You just had surgery," she reminded him gently. "Your body needs to recover." Plankton's eye grew large, and he nodded slowly. "Oh yeah," he said, his voice trailing off. "But...but I wan' ice cweam..." He faltered as Karen holds him up. The nurse chuckled and handed Karen the papers. "It's all normal, he's just loopy from the meds. He'll be fine once he's home." Karen nodded, her expression a mix of concern and affection. Plankton's head lolled back onto her shoulder, his eye drooping again. "Ice...cweam?" he mumbled. "As soon as we get home, I promise," she whispered. His body relaxed into her, his breathing evening out into a gentle snore. The nurse helped Karen maneuver the sleeping Plankton into a wheelchair, his legs still not fully cooperating. "Just a precaution," she said with a wink. "Better safe than sorry." The cool air of the hallway hit him like a wave, and Plankton's eye popped open. "Whe...?" he mumbled, looking around confused. "It's okay, we're going home," Karen said, pushing the wheelchair through the hospital's sliding doors. The sun was shining, and the brightness made him blink. Plankton squinted, his eye trying to adjust to the light. "Home?" he asked, his voice still thick with sleep. "Ice cweam?" Karen chuckled, nodding. "Yes, home. And yes, ice cream." She pushed him out into the parking lot, the sun glinting off the cars. Plankton was still groggy, his antennas waving slightly as if trying to keep time with his thoughts. The ride home was quiet, Plankton's snores punctuating the gentle hum of the engine. Karen couldn't help but glance over at him, his mouth slightly open, his face peaceful in sleep. She felt a wave of tenderness wash over her. When they finally pulled up to their house, the sight of their familiar surroundings seemed to revive Plankton. "Whe...we're hone?" he asked, his voice groggy. Karen nodded. "Yes, we're home," she said, her tone filled with relief. "Time for that ice cream."

🛵༘⋆🌷💭₊˚ෆ.𖥔 ݁ ˖

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა⋆.°🦋༘⋆⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･εつ▄█▀█●ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)ᶠᶸᶜᵏme𓀐𓂸˗ˏˋ 🍓 ˎˊ˗⋆✴︎˚｡⋆‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆BLɅϽKPIИK‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆≽^•༚• ྀི≼ ˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊🦈˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.≽^•༚• ྀིྀ≼†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟᯓᡣ𐭩⁷⁷⁷ㅤ<𝟑ֶָ֢ɪ፝֟я ᛉ•ᴗ•୨ৎᶻ 𝗓 𐰁∪€⋆⭒˚.⋆∞ωಇ. ᡣ𐭩 ༝જ⁀➴Е⋆.˚Ø©ྀིྀིᙏО⋆Łރ⁴⁴⁴࣪ ִֶָ☾.w󠁵Ö$ 𐙚 📧ᰔᩚ༒︎ᡣ𐭩𖹭®/\/ೀ©️🇪₊ ⊹™๋࣭ ⭑Ħ4️ℂ⋆١٥٧٤♡ℒ𝓸𝓿𝒆 𝔂𝓸𝓾EMINƎMᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིᰔᩚ𝒟ℯ𝒶𝓇⋆.˚🦋༘⋆•˚ 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴 ˚·ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀི༘⋆🌷🫧💭₊˚ෆℋℯ𝓁𝓁ℴ 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎ℐ𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊 <3. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა⋆.°🦋༘⋆⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･εつ▄█▀█●ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)ᶠᶸᶜᵏme𓀐𓂸˗ˏˋ 🍓 ˎˊ˗⋆✴︎˚｡⋆‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆BLɅϽKPIИK‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆≽^•༚• ྀི≼ ˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊🦈˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.≽^•༚• ྀིྀ≼†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძ

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა⋆.°🦋༘⋆⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･εつ▄█▀█●ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)ᶠᶸᶜᵏme𓀐𓂸˗ˏˋ 🍓 ˎˊ˗⋆✴︎˚｡⋆‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆BLɅϽKPIИK‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟᯓᡣ𐭩⁷⁷⁷ㅤ<𝟑ֶָ֢ɪ፝֟я ᛉ•ᴗ•୨ৎᶻ 𝗓 𐰁∪€⋆⭒˚.⋆∞ωಇ. ᡣ𐭩 ༝જ⁀➴Е⋆.˚Ø©ྀིྀི

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა⋆.°🦋༘⋆⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･εつ▄█▀█●ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)ᶠᶸᶜᵏme𓀐𓂸˗ˏˋ 🍓 ˎˊ˗⋆✴︎˚｡⋆‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆BLɅϽKPIИK†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟᯓᡣ𐭩⁷⁷⁷ㅤ<𝟑ֶָ֢ɪ፝֟я ᛉ•ᴗ•୨ৎᶻ 𝗓 𐰁∪€

eℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕††§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮∞જ⁀➴🇪↙1️⃣୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟᯓᡣ𐭩

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა⋆.°🦋༘⋆⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･εつ▄█▀█●ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)ᶠᶸᶜᵏme𓀐𓂸˗ˏˋ 🍓 ˎˊ˗⋆✴︎˚｡⋆‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆BLɅϽKPIИK‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆≽^•༚• ྀི≼ ˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊🦈˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.≽^•༚• ྀིྀ≼†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟᯓᡣ𐭩⁷⁷⁷ㅤ<𝟑ֶָ֢ɪ፝֟я ᛉ•ᴗ•୨ৎᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|Éℹ|ℹ️ᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩☀️ᯓ★1️⃣❌❤️ֶָ֢જ⁀➴⋆✉⊹ ࣪ ˖💌🔞➡️☕✅✨👤•Ʀ.ᐟ<𝟑⋆.˚©📧®🇪₊ ⊹🎯⏳💬✈️2️⃣3️⃣4️⃣🔥💥🔗🎮☆⚙️⌖♡★▶ⓕ💻ℊ

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა⋆.°🦋༘⋆⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･εつ▄█▀█●ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)ᶠᶸᶜᵏme𓀐𓂸˗ˏˋ 🍓 ˎˊ˗⋆✴︎˚｡⋆‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆BLɅϽKPIИK‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆≽^•༚• ྀི≼ ˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊🦈˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.≽^•༚• ྀིྀ≼†§ƒ

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟᯓᡣ𐭩⁷⁷⁷ㅤ<𝟑ֶָ֢ɪ፝֟я ᛉ•ᴗ•୨ৎᶻ 𝗓 𐰁∪€⋆⭒˚.⋆∞ωಇ. ᡣ𐭩 ༝જ⁀➴Е

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ†|ℹᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩❤️☀️ᯓ★1️⃣🔞➡️☕✅❌✨ֶָ֢જ⁀➴⋆🇪✉⊹ ࣪ ˖💌🎯⏳💬✈️2️⃣3️⃣4️⃣🔥💥👤🔗🎮•♡ⓕƦ.ᐟ<𝟑⋆.˚©†ℹ|ℹ️§ƒ

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა⋆.°🦋༘⋆⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･εつ▄█▀█●ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)ᶠᶸᶜᵏme𓀐𓂸˗ˏˋ 🍓 ˎˊ˗⋆✴︎˚｡⋆†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟᯓᡣ𐭩⁷⁷⁷ㅤ<𝟑ֶָ֢ɪ፝֟я ᛉ•ᴗ•୨ৎᶻ 𝗓 𐰁∪€⋆⭒˚.⋆∞ωಇ. ᡣ𐭩 ༝જ⁀➴Е⋆.˚Ø©ྀིྀིᙏО⋆Ł

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა⋆.°🦋༘⋆⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･εつ▄█▀█●ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)ᶠᶸᶜᵏme𓀐𓂸˗ˏˋ 🍓 ˎˊ˗⋆✴︎˚｡⋆‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆BLɅϽKPIИK‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆≽^•༚• ྀི≼ ˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊🦈˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.≽^•༚• ྀིྀ≼†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟᯓᡣ𐭩⁷⁷⁷ㅤ<𝟑ֶָ֢ɪ፝֟я ᛉ•ᴗ•୨ৎᶻ 𝗓 𐰁∪€⋆⭒˚.⋆∞ωಇ. ᡣ𐭩 ༝જ⁀➴Е⋆.˚Ø©ྀིྀིᙏО⋆Łރ

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა⋆.°🦋༘⋆⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･εつ▄█▀█●ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)ᶠᶸᶜᵏme𓀐𓂸˗ˏˋ 🍓 ˎˊ˗⋆✴︎˚｡⋆‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆BLɅϽKPIИK‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆≽^•༚• ྀི≼ ˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊🦈˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.≽^•༚• ྀིྀ≼†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟᯓᡣ𐭩⁷⁷⁷ㅤ<𝟑ֶָ֢ɪ፝֟я ᛉ•ᴗ•୨ৎᶻ 𝗓 𐰁∪€⋆⭒˚.⋆

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა⋆.°🦋༘⋆⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･εつ▄█▀█●ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)ᶠᶸᶜᵏme𓀐𓂸˗ˏˋ 🍓 ˎˊ˗⋆✴︎˚｡⋆‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆BLɅϽKPIИK‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆≽^•༚• ྀི≼ ˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊🦈˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.≽^•༚• ྀིྀ≼†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟᯓᡣ𐭩⁷⁷⁷ㅤ<𝟑ֶָ֢ɪ፝֟я ᛉ•ᴗ•୨ৎᶻ 𝗓 𐰁∪€⋆⭒˚.⋆∞ωಇ. ᡣ𐭩 ༝જ⁀➴Е⋆.˚Ø©

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა⋆.°🦋༘⋆⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･εつ▄█▀█●ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)ᶠᶸᶜᵏme𓀐𓂸˗ˏˋ 🍓 ˎˊ˗⋆✴︎˚｡⋆‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆BLɅϽKPIИK†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯

eℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°†ℹ|ℹ️ᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩☀️ᯓ★1️⃣❌❤️ֶָ֢જ⁀➴⋆✉⊹ ࣪ ˖💌🔞➡️☕✅✨👤•Ʀ.ᐟ<𝟑⋆.˚©📧®🇪₊ ⊹🎯⏳💬✈️2️⃣3️⃣4️⃣🔥💥🔗🎮☆⚙️⌖♡★

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა⋆.°🦋༘⋆⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･εつ▄█▀█●ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)ᶠᶸᶜᵏme𓀐𓂸˗ˏˋ 🍓 ˎˊ˗†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞα

eℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟᯓᡣ𐭩⁷⁷⁷ㅤ<𝟑ֶָ֢ɪ፝֟я ᛉ•ᴗ•

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆†|ℹᡣ𐭩ᯓ★ᯓᡣ𐭩ֶָ֢🇪1️⃣➡️☕✅❌❤️✨<𝟑જ⁀➴⋆⁴⁴⁴✉⊹ ࣪ ˖💌🔞🎯⏳➜💬✈️2️⃣3️⃣4️⃣💡🔥💥⚠️⚔️☀️•Ʀℊ.ᐟᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎᝰ.ᐟ⁷⁷⁷ㅤ୨ৎ€∞©О

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ †§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟᯓᡣ𐭩⁷⁷⁷ㅤ<𝟑ֶָ֢ɪ፝֟я ᛉ•ᴗ•୨ৎᶻ 𝗓 𐰁∪€⋆⭒˚.⋆∞ωಇ. ᡣ𐭩 ༝જ⁀➴Е⋆.˚Ø©ྀིྀིᙏО⋆Łރ⁴⁴⁴࣪ ִֶָ☾.w󠁵Ö$ 𐙚 📧ᰔᩚ༒︎

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ƒʟi️̤̮✔️ 🌱🛕❄️⚠️⚔️🎁✝️✍🌐🗣️✔️┃☎️☎☏@╰┈➤⏰┆📥📩ⓘ0️⃣📞📱

eℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) †§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟᯓᡣ𐭩⁷⁷⁷ㅤ<𝟑ֶָ֢ɪ፝֟я ᛉ•ᴗ•୨ৎ

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა⋆.°🦋༘⋆⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･εつ▄█▀█●ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟᯓᡣ𐭩⁷⁷⁷ㅤ<𝟑ֶָ֢ɪ፝֟

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა⋆.°🦋༘⋆⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･εつ▄█▀█●ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟᯓᡣ𐭩⁷⁷⁷ㅤ<𝟑ֶָ֢ɪ፝֟я ᛉ•ᴗ•୨ৎᶻ 𝗓 𐰁∪€⋆⭒˚.⋆∞

eℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა⋆.°🦋༘⋆⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･εつ▄█▀█●ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟᯓᡣ𐭩⁷⁷⁷ㅤ<𝟑ֶָ֢ɪ፝֟я ᛉ•ᴗ•୨ৎᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა⋆.°🦋༘⋆⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･εつ▄█▀█●ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟᯓᡣ𐭩⁷⁷⁷ㅤ<𝟑

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა⋆.°🦋༘⋆⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･εつ▄█▀█●ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.

e†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮∞જ⁀➴🇪୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟᯓᡣ𐭩⁷⁷⁷ㅤ<𝟑ֶָ֢ɪ፝֟я ᛉ•ᴗ•୨ৎᶻ 𝗓 𐰁∪€⋆⭒˚.⋆ωಇ. ᡣ𐭩 ༝Е⋆.˚Ø©ྀིྀིᙏО⋆Łރ

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა⋆.°🦋༘⋆⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･εつ▄█▀█●ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)ᶠᶸᶜᵏme𓀐𓂸˗ˏˋ 🍓 ˎˊ˗⋆✴︎˚｡⋆‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆BLɅϽKPIИK‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆≽^•༚• ྀི≼ ˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊🦈˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.≽^•༚• ྀིྀ≼†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟᯓᡣ𐭩⁷⁷⁷ㅤ<𝟑ֶָ֢ɪ፝֟я ᛉ•ᴗ•୨ৎᶻ 𝗓 𐰁∪€⋆⭒˚.⋆∞ωಇ. ᡣ𐭩 ༝જ⁀➴Е⋆.˚Ø©ྀིྀིᙏ

e․ℹ️₅₅₅˙ᵕ˙^ִ᪲᪲᪲ ࣪𖤐ϟ↙₊u <3⊹³³³Å ☠︎︎ F🤍Ч†★🩵༝༚༝༚ɢ୨୧Λ‹𝟹яֶָ֢ℌ๋࣭⭑0️-`♡´-✉.𖥔 ˖ɞ*ੈ𑁍༘⋆⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹₊ ⋆1️⃣N💕zz𐰁∞︎︎💌🔞‪‪❤︎‬3️(¬_¬)∀™️⊹₊⋆®️ 𐙚 ⋆˚🐾˖°|-|É๋࣭ ⭑⚝୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞ .ೃ࿔ ✈︎ *:･( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (∩˃o˂∩)♡( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ( •̀ - •́ )(¬`‸´¬)(っ- ‸ - ς)(っ´ཀ`)っ> <⸝⸝°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა⋆.°🦋༘⋆⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･εつ▄█▀█●ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)ᶠᶸᶜᵏme𓀐𓂸˗ˏˋ 🍓 ˎˊ˗†§ƒ|ʟℹi️̤̮୧℮ᡣ𐭩ᥫ᭡ƦИᥫ᭡.nྀིᯓ★Nྀིძℊ.ᐟТּ ֶָ֢.ℋᯓ ᡣ𐭩౨ৎ༯ʚɞαྀིᝰ.ᐟᯓᡣ𐭩⁷⁷⁷ㅤ<𝟑ֶָ֢ɪ፝֟я ᛉ•ᴗ•୨ৎᶻ 𝗓 𐰁∪€⋆⭒˚.⋆∞